


Devotion to Duty

by TheSSClexa



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, Angst and Fluff and Smut, But we all know that doesn’t work, CRC, Clarke is a lawyer, Clexa Rub Club, Eventual Fluff, Except they're too proud to admit it, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Hot Pilot Lexa, Lesbian Sex, Lexa’s kind of a bitch at first, Masturbation, Military AU, Military Uniforms, Mutual Pining, No Strings Attached, Oral Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Shower Sex, Smut, Some angst, Strap-Ons, Why is Lexa always the lawyer, and uniform skirts, clexa au, clexa fanfic au, did i mention lesbian sex?, hot women in uniform, lexa woods - Freeform, lots of lesbian sex, more smut, then it gets soft af, they both can wear the pants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-01-19 03:10:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12401865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSSClexa/pseuds/TheSSClexa
Summary: Lexa Woods - Helicopter Rescue PilotClarke Griffin - LawyerAs part of the Judge Advocate General's (JAG) Corp, Lieutenant Clarke Griffin volunteers for the case of the year, only to be met by frustration as she clashes with her own defendant, Commander Lexa Woods, being sued for negligence.ORThe one where they fall in love after only knowing each other for a week.





	1. The Lawsuit

Rain begins to spatter on her office window, she doesn’t give it a second glance. Typical. Sun is a luxury at Air Station Port Angeles, WA. A gloomy small town where it rains two-thirds of the year, Port Angeles’ economy comprised of logging, fishing, and tourism.  

Lieutenant Commander Lexa Woods clicks her blue pen, approving a few last minute requests when the Captain walks in. Automatically, she stands to recognize the higher ranking officer’s presence, drilled into her the moment she stepped foot at the Academy eleven years ago. She was so young back then, eighteen, inexperienced, innocent even, but maintains the same drive, vigor, and confidence.

“Captain,” she greets.

“Please, sit Commander,” the Captain responds.

Sitting, “How can I help you?”

“Actually Commander, I have some unfortunate news. I wanted to deliver it to you first before you received official word.”

Lexa’s expression doesn’t change, just a flit in her eyes.

The Captain takes a deep breath, “You’re being sued. The… McQueen family is filing negligence.”

Lexa almost explodes up, but she doesn’t. She remembers the McQueen search and rescue case well.

Seven months and six days ago well.

Piloting the helicopter, Lexa made the call. They found the fishing vessel in distress, two persons onboard, brothers actually. Lowering the rescue swimmer onboard to retrieve one of the two, the weather had turned more severe. Taking on an overwhelming swell of water, the fishing boat began to sink along with the second brother. They couldn’t stay airborne any longer, and LCDR Lexa Woods made the call to leave the second brother behind. She deemed him unrecoverable, instructing the rescue swimmer not to return. The risk was too high for the entire crew to salvage one man. Someone had to make the decision. That, someone, was her.

Etching at her heart, she buried her feelings of remorse, pain, and regret. It's part of the job. She bears the responsibility. Except this lawsuit is like salt water on the wound.

“I see,” replies Lexa, remaining as stoic as ever, unwavering with the unfortunate news.

“You’ll be assigned a lawyer from headquarters and procedures will take place at the District Court office, likely within the month.”

Lexa nods in response.

The District office is in Seattle, roughly two and a half hours away.

 

∞

 

Two weeks later.

Lexa adjusts her quadruple stack of ribbons on the left, and her name tag on the right, before strolling into the District building in her navy blue uniform with a single gold quarter-inch stripe between two gold half-inch stripes on her forearm sleeves. Her black shoes, a perfect shine, and shirt underneath, a flawless press, extra starch actually. She takes pride in her uniform.

Entering the general meeting room, Lexa’s eyes fall on a Lieutenant with a single award ribbon. The image isn’t right. Too high rank for her lone decoration. Lexa immediately passes judgment, disappointed that this blonde is her assigned defense lawyer. A newbie. Likely cranked through a few weeks of the most basic of “basic training” at the Academy, receiving a Direct Commission as Lieutenant.

“Commander,” the Lieutenant stands, extending her reach.

“Lieutenant,” Lexa shakes her hand, firmly.

 

-

 

Clarke isn’t going to lie to herself at the sight of the Commander, it’s extremely intimidating as she glances at the stack of ribbons decorated with additional stars. This woman looks like a goddamn war hero. But, Clarke volunteered for this case with confidence.

Barely making the age cut for the Direct Commission program at 29 years old, Clarke has had her fair share of civilian court cases and needed a change. A more challenging change to serve something bigger than just the case before her. At the time, the service was the perfect segue. Satisfying both her law degree and internal passion to help and protect people. A true multi-mission organization.

Clarke begins to go over the court proceedings, asking the Commander questions. Except the Commander’s replies are curt, rude even. It rubs Clarke all the wrong ways.

_What is her problem?_

Clarke understands the ranking system well, but this is just pure insolence.

“Excuse me Commander, but what’s your problem?”

The Commander’s dark green eyes go wide, “Excuse me, _Lieutenant_.” Emphasizing Clarke’s inferior rank.

“I am trying to help you here. I need more than just single worded answers.”

Lexa near rolls her eyes, but refrains. “Maybe if you knew your job better, you’d see that everything is in my post case reports.”

Clarke immediately picks up on Lexa’s gibe, “That’s what this is about? Look, I may only have one ribbon compared to yours, but you don’t know anything about me. And if you want to see this through, I recommend you cooperate a little more willingly, _Commander_.” Clarke kicks the “k” sound in the Lexa’s rank.

-

To the blonde’s credit, she’s bold. She reminds Lexa of herself. Challenging authority with the right balance of respect and audacity.

Lexa gives the blonde a singular nod of compliance.

The remainder of the afternoon goes a little more smoothly for Clarke, but barely, as she takes additional notes on the Commander’s account of the search and rescue case and motive behind her decision.

Finishing at 1700, Clarke feels like she can breathe again, escaping the gas chamber. Six months into the job, Clarke heard about the “arrogant aviator types,” but didn’t believe in the stereotype. Until now.

_What a fucking narcissistic bitch._

Immediately regretting the case she volunteered for.

Easily stripping her uniform and into casual civilian clothes, jeans, a simple t-shirt, and a light jacket, Clarke feels anew. Losing the shell, she walks down to the hotel bar, eager for a drink from the long day, not to mention her jet lag. Accustomed to East Coast time, she woke at 3:30 A.M. this morning and could not fall back asleep. She’s definitely looking forward to an early night after dinner and drink.

“Gin and tonic please,” she says to the bartender. “Actually, can you make that a double?”

The bartender nods, wiping down the counter.

Before Clarke notices, the bartender looks to the stool next to Clarke, vacant just seconds ago, “And you?”

“Make that two.”

 _That voice_.

The voice Clarke suffered through all day, resonates next to her. A voice full of disdain, judgment, and arrogance.

Swiveling in her chair, Clarke is obligated to greet her.

How unfortunate.

“Commander,” greets Clarke.

Except there’s a change in the Commander’s voice. An outlandish shift in her response that immediately grabs Clarke’s attention.

“Please. We’re not in uniform anymore. Call me Lexa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this idea exploded in my mind. 
> 
> I'll be wrapping up my First Class fic before I add another chapter to this one. Might be a while folks, but let the idea swim in your head like it did mine!


	2. The Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many of you are waiting on my First Class cliffhanger update, don't worry, it'll be out soon. 
> 
> In the meantime, maybe this will satisfy you?

The Commander’s somewhat ease of conversation at the bar over dinner surprises Clarke. Not quite a 180-degree flip from the ridiculously decorated robot of woman she sat across from today, more like 25 degrees if you had to give it a numerical value, but it isn't intolerable. Lexa even smiled, once. The most revealing, yet intriguing thing was the emotion behind Lexa’s eyes or lack thereof actually. Clarke caught a glimpse, once, when Lexa asked where Clarke had gone to school.

“Harvard,” replies Clarke, noticing the perk in Lexa’s ear closest to her and a small glisten of… _something_ in the Commander’s eyes. Possibly envy.

Clarke prods with humor, “Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

This is what earns her Lexa’s only smile of the night, barely a tug in the corner of her lips. And Clarke thought getting this woman to talk was difficult yesterday, but the smallest reaction, especially a pleasant one is tough earned. 

“Yes…” Lexa trails, “I considered law school myself. Clearly not the career path I’ve chosen.”

Curiosity provoked, Clarke sits in silence, waiting for more. More words, more depth, more insight into this woman. But Lexa turns her attention back to the bar’s television screen, flashing replays of the sports updates – primarily the Astros winning the World Series. Evidently, that is all Clarke was going to get.

Casually looking down at her watch, a silver-lined dark-faced analog with an olive green band, Clarke decides it’s time to call it a night, looking forward to a full seven maybe eight hours of sleep. 

She’d would have said it was nice chatting with the Commander, but that isn’t quite the case.

“Well, see you in the morning,” says Clarke.

Just as Clarke begins to slide off the bar stool, Lexa speaks into the air as if the bartender were awaiting another order. But there’s no one there, words clearly meant for Clarke as she turns away.

“Room number 413,” offers Lexa nonchalantly.

Unexpected.

Clarke is never caught off guard like this, especially in the realm of flirtatious prowess. Throughout the evening, the Commander showed no signs of interest. No coy in her voice, the glint in her eyes, or raise of an eyebrow. Clarke's curiosity is now considerably piqued. More than considerable.

She definitely didn’t hear wrong, but Clarke turns with a skeptical glance, just in case.

Reading Clarke’s expression, “Don’t look at me like that,” says Lexa. “Are you interested or not?” Brazenly exposing it all so nothing was unclear. True assurance in the commander that she is.

To Clarke, it’s not a simple yes or no. She has two qualms.

One, considering her last breakup approximately four months ago, a complete muddle, unclean and treading hostile, Clarke and her ex-girlfriend argued until the end of days. They tortured each other with incompatibility.

And the one before that, well he turned out to be a needy mess.

And before him, she turned out to be a total bitch.

And before her… well, it goes on a few more times.

Far from hurt, Clarke isn’t broken in any way. She just doesn’t want to deal with the bullshit and unable to even fathom what being with this nearly insufferable woman would be like. Sick of relationships and decidedly on a break for herself.

Two, a near legal issue. Conflict of interest. Though she’s Lexa’s defense attorney, the act would actually be in Lexa’s favor.

Clarke clarifies with a small stipulation, “No strings attached?”

Lexa replies almost too quickly, “Obviously,” and Clarke swears the Commander half rolls her eyes.

Silence as Clarke contemplates the Commander’s offer.

“I understand if it’s a conflict of interest for you,” says Lexa, giving her an out and turning her attention to the remainder of her drink, swirling the clear alcoholic mixture into a fizz before finishing the last sip, licking her lips ever so slightly at the finish. Full and lush. 

As monotonously as Lexa said it, her words sound like a challenge to Clarke, drawing her in to play whatever game this is.

Or maybe the Commander really just means sex and nothing else. Clarke truly cannot tell, her judgment compromised by Lexa’s poise and complete lack of innuendo, which is quite irritating. Like a fucking enigma, you continually go back to try and solve in total frustration. Clarke wants to chuck the annoying Rubik’s cube out the window, except she’s drawn to it.

Lexa is devastatingly alluring.

“It’s not a conflict of interest. I’m more than capable of separating feelings from duty,” replies Clarke in confidence.

“You still haven’t answered my question, is that a yes or no?” says Lexa, not even looking at her.

But, for some reason, Clarke’s still thinking about it.

Lexa lets out an impatient exhale, almost huffing. Pulling her spare key card out, she slides it over towards Clarke along on the bar counter.

“Your choice, Lieutenant,” and gets up to leave.

Is she mocking Clarke by caller her by rank?

 

∞

 

15 minutes later.

Lexa hears a knock at her door and she lets out a winning grin. She knew she had Clarke when she called her by rank. Feisty and willing to face a challenge from what she could tell from earlier today, Lexa knew Clarke wouldn’t refuse.

Opening her door, she finds Clarke standing with key card in hand.

“I felt it would be rude just to barge in, Commander,” waving the key card.  

Pausing at the doorframe, Clarke did have a couple more conditions.

“Don’t call me after this,” says Clarke.

Lexa responds in the same tone, “Don’t text me.”

Clarke adds, “And I don’t do pet names.”

“Done.”

Breaking the plane of the room, Clarke near knocks Lexa over with a bruising kiss, their tongues thrashing and teeth clattering. Sloppy, careless, and raw.

 

-

 

Resisting a growl, Lexa particularly likes this blonde. Clenching a fist full of thick blonde hair, Clarke tastes dark and rich, like whiskey. Because that’s what Clarke did before deciding. A double shot of Jameson.

It’s been a few months since the last time Lexa slept with someone. The small town of Port Angeles is, well, small. With a population just shy of 20,000, Port Angeles is slim pickings for Lexa, especially women.

She anticipated that this trip to Seattle would at least end with someone sharing her hotel room for a casual night or two. Lexa even has plans to venture out to Capitol Hill to stroll the bars. She isn’t going to lie to herself, Lexa is horny as fuck.

Saving her a bit of time and effort, conveniently, is her case lawyer, and technically coworker.

Clarke isn’t in her direct chain of command, they aren’t breaking any rules. But, for some reason, the notion flirts with Lexa’s ethics. A different feeling of excitement and danger counter to her customary physical thrills of piloting a helicopter into a storm. She purposely never delves into the pool of coworkers. But Clarke is… unique. She isn’t the typical officer, marched through four grueling years at the Academy with military bearing instilled. Clarke maintained her vigorous personality and Lexa makes an exception, plus Clarke’s stipulations augment Lexa’s decision even easier.

 

-

 

Breaking the kiss abruptly, Clarke attacks Lexa’s neck, it’s soft and almost too delicate for this rigid woman. Growing hungry, Clarke turns her kisses and nips into a suck, except Lexa immediately gives Clarke a disapproving shove with her chin.

“Don’t,” says Lexa sternly, clear warning in her voice.

Clarke understands instantly. 

“I won’t leave a mark,” Clarke says assuredly and daringly meets Lexa’s eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Lexa’s eyes are difficult to read. Tremendously difficult. Clarke is classically a very good judge of character and even better at reading expressions, emotions, and moods. In addition to her natural ability to do so, years and years of jury swaying enhanced her knack.

Looking at Lexa now is like hitting a concrete wall for Clarke.

Lexa is impervious.

And it’s absolutely maddening.

Holding Lexa’s gaze firmly, like a game to see who would blink first, Clarke somehow manages to gain approval as Lexa tilts her head ever so slightly, inviting the blonde back.

Returning, Clarke dips lower into the Commander’s collarbone for reassurance. Ear pressed against Lexa’s throat, she definitely hears a growl this time. Reaching under, Clarke runs her hands up Lexa’s shirt, hot, but smooth skin, the feeling nearly overwhelms Clarke. Lexa is in _phenomenal_ shape and Clarke rapidly pulls Lexa’s shirt roughly over her head, revealing the visual evidence. It’s probably the best set of abs Clarke had ever seen, they aren’t rock hard though, just fucking perfectly outlined, dipping in flawless grooves under the shadow of the light.

Clenching her jaw in provocation, Clarke shoves the Commander onto the bed without a second thought. Pulling her own shirt over her head, Clarke climbs on top and straddles Lexa for another devastating kiss. Feeling Lexa’s fingertips rake and nails dig, Clarke bites down.

“Ah,” Lexa pulls away, annoyed and licking the hint of dark red along her lower lip.

Clarke doesn’t apologize.

Peering down at the bottom of her lip, “You’re lucky that was on the inside,” Lexa says and returns her eyes to meet Clarke’s with aggression.

Clarke had disturbed the wolf.

Gripping the nape of Clarke’s neck, Lexa yanks her down, falling back and kissing her so hard Clarke’s sure it drew more blood, tasting copper subtleties.

Grunting in frustration from meeting fabric, Clarke works to unbutton Lexa’s jeans as Lexa undid hers. After leaning back to kick her pants and underwear off, Clarke is free to pull Lexa’s off, coarsely tugging as Lexa raises her hips to let Clarke do so.

Eyeing past Lexa’s sleek and muscular body, their bras aren’t even off but Clarke doesn’t care.

Thirsty.

Hungry.

Famished.

Licking her lips in anticipation, Clarke leans down and hovers over between Lexa’s legs.

Except.

“No. Here,” commands Lexa, urging Clarke back up to meet eye to eye again.

Lexa pulls Clarke down for another rough kiss, a dominating tongue that Clarke tames with her own. Straddled above, she feels Lexa clutch her ass and a deep rumble resonates through Lexa’s throat. It gives Clarke goosebumps; the flight or fight kind and Clarke’s instincts take over. Reaching for Lexa’s wrists on her hips, Clarke takes hold and pins Lexa’s arm above her head and she swears Lexa snarls under her breath.

While Clarke grinds down, Lexa’s bare abdomen drives up to meet her and Clarke can’t help but let out a moan. Reading Clarke’s reaction, Lexa continues to thrust up, finding more wetness that begins to coat her lower abs.

With the increasing pleasure between her legs, Clarke’s grip weakens, and Lexa’s hands are back on her ass, now pulling her down in empty thrusts. Clarke rides Lexa in a heavy grinding roll, tossing her head back in satisfaction as Lexa’s abdominal muscles flex underneath her.

Growing impatient, Clarke motions to shift herself off but Lexa holds her firmly down, continuing to tease with nothingness. It frustrates Clarke even more.

With teeth clenched and jaw tight, “Stop it,” says Clarke and reaches back for Lexa’s wrists, plying them off so she could move.

It’s an odd struggle for power as Clarke shifts to place her thigh in between Lexa’s legs. And finally, fucking finally does Lexa let out a moan. Eagerly taking advantage, like Clarke had just struck her down in the Octagon for a brief second, Clarke immediately leans down to capture Lexa’s lips in another heat and presses her thigh down harder, pushing into Lexa’s slickness. Clarke feels victorious as Lexa breaks the kiss for air, gasping, and Clarke skillfully sweeps her hand down and gets to Lexa first. Taking Lexa in slight surprise and slipping into a thick warmth that coats her fingers.

 

-

 

Fuck Clarke is quick, swiftly sliding into Lexa before she can react. It’s rare for Lexa to have someone touch her first, but it doesn’t last long as Lexa reaches down and slips into Clarke just as easily. It causes Clarke to falter, hovering for a second at the filling sensation.

“Fuck...” Clarke exhales harshly, now grinding into Lexa’s fingers as she fucks Lexa with her own.

The grunts and moans are mixed with strings of profanity as they match each other’s pace. Grinding and thrusting in pure lust and primitive impulse.

Clarke is visceral, and Lexa likes it. It equals her own robustness, a rarity. More than a rarity. One of a kind; an uncommon gem.

“You’re close,” taunts Lexa, feeling Clarke’s clenching walls against her fingers.

“So are you...” replies Clarke huskily.

They come within seconds of each other, pitching and rolling in aching pleasure. Clarke wants to toss her head back, arch her body to ride it out, but Lexa prevents her by grabbing the back of her head and pulling her down to reunite their tongues until Clarke is near screaming into Lexa’s mouth.

Finished, Clarke finds herself panting in Lexa’s face, swallowing to mitigate her parched throat. Falling off to the side in a heavy slump, Clarke peers over to look at Lexa, diaphragm contracting and expanding in a glimmer of sweat across her beautifully cut stomach. She looks past Lexa at the hotel digital clock flashing red on the nightstand. It’s just past 11:15 PM and if Clarke leaves now, she can at least attempt a full seven hours of sleep.  

Satisfied, but mostly exhausted from lack of sleep, Clarke begins to lean up to leave, except Lexa stops her by rolling on top and looking her in the eye with fire.

“Where do you think you’re going? I’m not nearly done with you,” says Lexa.

So much for those seven hours.

Deftly reaching behind Clarke, Lexa unhooks the overtly offensive material to free Clarke’s breasts. Leaning up, Lexa undoes her own, rolling her shoulders and cracking her neck before coming back to plant another tongue filled kiss on the blonde’s lips.

She cups Clarke’s breasts in full, both hands kneading and squeezing, it begins to work Clarke up all over again. And Lexa expertly runs her tongue along Clarke’s neck and down to capture a nipple.

Clarke hisses in response, raising her hips at the sensation that jolts down to her core. She expects Lexa to be rougher, harder, but Lexa is sucking and playing with her nipples _exactly_ right. Perfect pressure just shy of pain.

_Jesus fuck._

Clarke is about to urge Lexa down between her aching legs, but she doesn’t need to and it’s like Lexa read her mind. Lexa drags her teeth down Clarke’s pale stomach and rests between her legs. Without restraint, Lexa takes Clarke into her mouth in full, practically drinking Clarke’s arousal.

Lexa spends hours, fucking hours between her legs. _By god_ the Commander is good. Clarke doesn’t know how many times she came, Lexa constantly in control and somehow able to work her over and over again.

 

-

 

Clarke doesn’t remember when she fell asleep, passed out from utter exhaustion but she wakes in a startle, eyeing the hotel ceiling. Seeking time, instead, Clarke finds Lexa in a deep slumber next to her. Lexa is sleeping on her stomach and facing the other way with sheets twisted messily around her legs and back exposed.

Clarke didn’t notice before, probably because she was facing Lexa all night, but there’s an entire mural on Lexa’s back. A complete nautical scene – tall ship, cresting waves, lighthouse, and cliff, all guarded by a helicopter above. Offset from the mural on Lexa’s left shoulder blade is the most detailed compass rose Clarke has ever seen and judging from style, likely a different artist. A different time, earlier, maybe even Lexa’s first tattoo.

After a few minutes of study, Clarke looks up to meet the red glow. 5:46 AM.

She gets out of bed slowly, legs sore, body aching, and tender between. Fuck did Lexa do a number on her. But, Clarke is far from complaining. Slowly gathering her clothes, Clarke leaves quietly and returns to her room.

In preparation for the first day in court, Clarke takes a long steaming hot shower. It’s refreshing and revitalizing. She orders breakfast from room service as she looks over the day’s proceedings.

Today, basic introductions and jury selection. Clarke needs to be focused. Jury selection is one of her favorite processes, able to flex her muscles of character read, but also, laboring.  

Gulping her coffee, last night was unexpected and she needs the extra caffeine to substitute for the lack of sleep.

 

∞

 

Stepping into the District building, Clarke sees Lexa in the distance, textbook in uniform and waiting by the elevators. Clarke walks up to stand alongside, they don’t make eye contact.

Lexa already knows she’s there.

“Lieutenant,” greets Lexa in absolute monotony.

Zero play, ambiguity, or even friendliness in her tone. Apparently, it’s game on again.

“Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The struggle is real!


	3. The Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is human after all... We dip into that just a bit this chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully the added chapter length makes up for the wait. Maybe read it twice? Enjoy!

While stepping into the elevator, Lexa steals a glance at Clarke after their long night together. Lexa takes notice at how put together Clarke is. She cleans up well. Extremely well. Like she had gotten a full eight hours of rest with Lexa guessing no more than three compared to her own. No bags under Clarke’s eyes, wholly absent in signs of fatigue. Blue eyes vibrant and focused compared to last night’s haze of deep sapphire.

Something had taken over Lexa last night, completely addicted like a drug, she couldn’t help herself as soon as she had Clarke on her tongue. Lexa had gone longer stints without sex, but Clarke was like drinking nectar from the gods. A honeyed stimulant, Lexa craved for more and turned relentless. Licking, lapping, and sucking to quench her thirst, she buried herself deep into Clarke.

Usually, more in control, much more control, Lexa is astounded the way she lost all surrounding awareness and self-discipline last night, focused solely on the blonde’s wetness between her lips. Working Clarke over and over again into a quivering mess.

Even more astonishing, Clarke’s endurance. Lexa’s sure Clarke was done after her second orgasm, but Clarke pressed on for more. Fisting Lexa’s hair and maneuvering her to where she pleased. With squeezing strong thighs, Lexa couldn’t guess what Clarke did to maintain her shape, likely some sort of high-intensity routine. It was only when Clarke finally nudged her up around 3 AM that Lexa crawled up alongside. Lexa couldn’t remember the last time she reached complete exhaustion like this, falling asleep instantaneously.

Waking up with her face against the pillow to her phone alarm offensively blaring, she wasn’t surprised to find Clarke gone. Though impressed that Clarke was up before her.

Stepping into the shower, Lexa felt a sting along her shoulders as the rough water hit her skin. Nail marks. Grinning, she ignores them as steam fills the alcove.

 _Ow._ Lexa thought to herself as she placed her toothbrush in her mouth. Nail marks aside, she couldn’t ignore the sharp throb when she opened her mouth to brush her teeth. Damn, did Clarke do a number on her jaw, not to mention the internal forming scab on her lower lip. Lexa brushed… carefully.

Pulling out her pressed uniform, she goes over it with a lint roller out of habit before dressing for the day.

 

∞

 

“It’s your choice, Commander,” says Clarke, referring to Lexa’s presence during jury selection.

“The defendant has the right to be present, but no obligation,” Clarke continues.

“I prefer to stay,” replies Lexa.

Clarke nods as the courtroom agenda begins.

Basic introductions included the general schedule, scope, qualification of counsel, and case overview. Lexa is sitting idly as Clarke manages a stack of files before the judge and opposing counsel; multiple maroon six-part folders and various enclosures, exhibits, and individual files. All well tabbed with intermittent post-it notes and finally, Clarke’s own Black n’ Red notebook for personal notes.

This procedure takes them to 10:30 when a 15-minute morning recess is called.

Clarke and Lexa find themselves in the bathroom together. It’s total silence. Nothing but sounds of individual zippers, buttons and belt buckles followed by the splash of running water and tear off paper towels. No words, no eye contact, not even through the mirror as Lexa kicks the door open, barely enough for Clarke to follow behind.

It drove Clarke a little mad.

Destined for the same thing, coffee, Lexa watches as Clarke dumps in two packets of sugar plus two creams. Normally, Clarke took her coffee with just cream but needed the extra sugar kick. They hadn’t even gotten to jury selection yet. Lexa preferred her coffee black but reservedly reaches for two packs of sugar herself. Clarke wasn’t the only one who needed the added carbohydrates.

Returning to the courtroom and taking their respective seats, Lexa breaks the silence.

“How long will jury selection take?” asks Lexa, anticipating at least the remainder of the day and well into the following morning with a basic understanding of courtroom procedures.

“It takes as long as it takes, usually,” replies Clarke, “But, I intend to have it completed by the end of today.”

“You?” replies Lexa in slight curiosity, like Clarke had control of it all.

Clarke gives a casual, “Yes.”

 

-

 

A panel of jurors for selection is presented just before lunch and Lexa observes Clarke, somehow already with a predetermined list. Just as Clarke closed her notebook, Lexa took a mental picture, she wasn’t supposed to, but couldn’t help it with a photographic memory. Reading Clarke’s notes that reappear in her mind, Clarke seemingly did have it all figured out, quickly categorizing by profession, age or otherwise labeling and strategizing.

Grandma – reason

Ex-cop – keep

Professor – reason

Nineteen yr old – reason

Fisherman – question

Shop owner – question

Veteran – keep

Security worker – keep

Banker – question

Driver – keep

Techie – question

Teacher - question

Clarke knew exactly what she wanted, clear confidence in her apparent judge of character and approach.

It gave Lexa a strong feeling of assurance, no longer viewing Clarke as a newbie, not to mention Clarke’s law degree from Harvard. Yes, Lexa was slightly envious.

The decision not to pursue law was difficult for Lexa. But, she grew up from a military upbringing primarily with her father. A Master Chief when she received acceptance into the Coast Guard Academy, she didn’t want to let him down and abandoned her aspirations to be a lawyer. Though Lexa doesn't live in regret. She loves her job, an undoubted thrill to pilot a rescue helicopter as well as the satisfaction and utmost gratitude that comes with saving lives. But for some reason, the lives saved never seem to make up for the few that were lost. Lexa needed to constantly remind herself of all the positives and forget days like today when death haunts her in the form of a lawsuit.

 

∞

 

Breaking for an hour lunch at noon, independent of each other, Clarke and Lexa scarf down to-go sandwiches, both planning to go back to their respective hotel rooms for a twenty-minute power nap.

Ironically, Clarke and Lexa find themselves entering the hotel elevator together. Lexa pushes for the fourth floor and Clarke for the seventh as the same silence from their bathroom break earlier blankets.

It brings Clarke back to her state of agitation, receiving nothing from Lexa. No stealing glance, suggestive remark, or the slightest amicable body language. Clarke felt the literal of a cold shoulder.

The elevator door opens and Lexa is about to step out. Clarke has no idea what came over her, truly looking forward to a nap, but instinctively reaches to catch the Rubik’s cube before it went out the window.

Clarke grabs Lexa’s hand and pulls her back into the elevator, connecting their lips.

Lexa reciprocates, not nearly as aggressive as last night with tenderness on her tongue. Quite frankly because her entire mouth was still sore, though she didn’t care to admit.

Counter to their clean, pressed and neat uniforms, the kiss was dirtying. Clarke’s “Griffin” name tag clatters against Lexa’s stack of ribbons, jarring them crooked, alike gold buttons clank open, and identical navy blue polyester rubs against stiff starch.

“You have 20 minutes, Lieutenant,” mouths Lexa.

“Oh, I know…” replies Clarke as the elevator doors open and she quickly pulls Lexa along.

They make it back to Clarke’s room before daring to fully undress in haste, but also with slight care for their outer garments. Minus Lexa’s additional quarter inch stripe and added ribbons on her outer jacket, their articles of clothing are identical.

Clarke has no idea where her energy came from, feeling her reserves running dangerously low before this all started. But somehow, she managed, needing to satisfy a different hunger. Seeking vengeance from failing to have Lexa on her own tongue last night.

Pushing Lexa on to the bed again, Clarke doesn’t give her a chance this time and takes Lexa in-between her lips instantaneously.

Lexa lets out a long groan followed by harsh, “Fuck!”

Clarke had her, like a bear caught in a trap, and she was sure as shit not going to let Lexa go. Not after last night. Damn, she wishes she had more than just 20 fucking minutes.

Working quickly, Clarke has the Commanding writhing under her and she’s never felt more exhilarated. Lexa coarsely tugging her hair, squeezing thighs that Clarke forces down with her weight, and strong hands on her shoulders. Clarke needed to flex her own traps and shoulders just to withstand the grip.

Lexa comes hard against her mouth, a violent thrusting pelvis that has Clarke wrapping her arms around Lexa’s thighs just to contain her. It gave Clarke an unparalleled thrill as if she was high on some new drug while wrestling a wild animal. An addictive stimulant that raised the hair on her skin and dilated her pupils as she unleashed the beast.

Finally coming up for air, Clarke looks up at the clock. Smiling, she had five minutes to spare, Lexa still panting on her back.

 

-

 

“Fuck, why does this shirt fit funny,” says Clarke as she begins to button.

“Because it’s mine,” replies Lexa, picking up her bra and underwear in the far corner of the room.

“Shit, here,” taking the shirt off and handing it to Lexa, Clarke searches for the other matching blouse.

Putting on her final jacket, Clarke hears the lowest of grumbles from Lexa’s direction.

“What’s wrong?”

“Missing a star… dammit,” Lexa barely mumbles as she shifts her gaze from her chest stack of ribbons to the floor, hoping to find the 5/16-inch sized gold star.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, no one’s going to notice. They will if we’re late though, c’mon,” replies Clarke.

Clarke was right. Abandoning her search, Clarke and Lexa make the short walk back to the courtroom by 12:56. Both double-checking their uniforms, automatically dusting off dirt and lint from the hotel room floor and sweeping stray hairs back.

 

-

 

Mundanely sitting through jury selection, Lexa almost regretted her decision to stay and observe.

However, she wanted to make a good and strong impression for the selected jurors. Plus, Clarke was diligent in the process and it was pleasant to watch her verbal technique with specific, targeted questions leaving no room for ambiguity. Carefully cross-referencing with no time wasted.

Mentally recalling Clarke’s list, Clarke was on track to complete her selection by the end of the day as she intended. And sure enough, when time on deck hit 1700, Clarke finished her final delivery and the jurors were set.

Lexa found herself a little impressed. Clarke was good.

 

∞

 

Venturing down to the hotel bar again, Clarke finds Lexa in the same barstool as the night before and nursing the last of a beer. Clarke wasn’t sure if she wanted to spend another night with Lexa, more tired than the evening before, Clarke knew she wouldn’t last long. Though for some reason, Clarke still found herself pulling the stool next to Lexa, unexpectedly eager for another piece of the puzzle.

“Can I buy you another?” offers Clarke.

“Don’t bother,” Lexa immediately replies.  

 _WTF?_ Lexa shot Clarke down like a nervous freshman trying to ask a senior out to prom. Frustration simmers within Clarke. _What the hell is wrong with this woman?_

“You know, I understand you have appearances to maintain. But you don’t have to be a dick about it,” Clarke spits.

To Clarke’s surprise, Lexa responds with an amused hum and the second time Clarke saw a sliver of a smile escape.

Swiveling off the barstool and grabbing her coat, Lexa turns to meet Clarke’s gaze with a peculiar lightness.

“No thank you, Clarke,” she rephrases, “I have dinner plans with an old colleague here,” Lexa explains calmly as she throws on her black raincoat. It’s a nice raincoat, one meant for camping, climbing, or some other strenuous outdoor activity and clearly well used for such. Brand, Arc’teryx. It looked good on Lexa. Sleek and shiny, cutting all her angles right. Or maybe Lexa just looked fucking good in anything she wore.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” replies Clarke, blinking and refocusing. Astounded that she had read Lexa wrong. Clarke would normally blame it on her day’s work with jury selection, but it wasn’t as taxing as other cases she’s had in the past. Absent in her comprehension of Lexa, a total lacking that had Clarke baffled at herself. No one has _ever_ had this kind of immunity to Clarke.

“See you tomorrow,” says Lexa as she walks away.

Lexa’s out the door when Clarke finally lets out a long exhale, feeling particularly asinine but also some relief that she’ll actually get to sleep tonight.

Skipping the bar, Clarke returns to her room and opts for the room’s minibar plus room service. It gave her additional time to review Lexa’s file. Familiar with Lexa’s background from the start, Clarke had everything she needed to succeed in the case. However, after her mistake at reading Lexa down at the bar, Clarke felt compelled to learn more about her. And hell, it didn’t seem like Lexa was attuned to speaking, so Clarke spent the night reading about Lexa in detail.

Lexa was good at her job, maintaining one of the top lifesaving statistics and case successes throughout the Coast Guard. Finding herself a little enthralled, it’s midnight by the time Clarke is done reading Lexa’s merits when she first began at the Academy.

Somehow, Lexa kept Clarke up without even being there.

Turning in for the night, Clarke falls asleep fairly quickly but wakes with an unexpected desire between her legs. She was dreaming. She was dreaming about Lexa. She was dreaming about having sex with Lexa.

Peering over at the clock, it’s a quarter past 5 AM and no way in hell Clarke was falling back asleep. _What the fuck?_ How was Lexa haunting her mind like this? Granted it likely had some to do with reading Lexa’s file until midnight, but Clarke could not recall ever having such an intimate sex dream about anybody like this. It wasn’t just the act alone, but the intensity of her dream that left her more turned on than she could bear.

Reaching down, Clarke quickly takes care of herself and it was quite possibly the most unsatisfying orgasm she’d ever given herself, feeling even more turned on than before. _How is that even possible?_ Tossing off her sheets, the thought of a cold shower came to mind. But, Clarke worried it wasn’t going to be enough and decides to go downstairs to the hotel’s poor excuse of a gym followed by a cold shower.

Finding the gym empty, Clarke beeps on the treadmill. Running was one of her least favorite activities, slow and pacing that left her brain bored. Clarke preferred sports to keep her mind occupied. And her sport of preference, nothing but fast moving, high intensity, multitask demanding, ice hockey.

Clarke grew up playing in New Haven, Connecticut, which ironically is not far from New London where the Coast Guard Academy resides. She considered the Academy after graduating high school but took her free ride to Harvard given her hockey abilities. She was good. One of the best. Captain. All of it. Clarke had a chance at making the US Olympic team but suffered a near career-ending spinal neck injury the start of her senior year when she slammed head-first into the boards. The surgery left metallic fragments on the last two of her cervical vertebrae along with a small scar on the base of her neck. While Clarke fully recovered physically, her mental pursuit wasn’t the same. A lingering caution she couldn’t shake. After graduating, Clarke digressed to coaching clinics, playing in local adult leagues, and volunteering at rinks while finalizing her career in law to make a broader impact.

 

-

 

Stomping on the treadmill, images of Lexa occupied Clarke’s thoughts as she forced them out with increasing speeds. After 45 minutes, the treadmill has Clarke sweaty and panting, which relieved the smallest bit of tension. But, it was better than nothing and Clarke took was she could. Now, it was time for the cold shower. 

Taking the stairs up, Clarke is about to bypass Lexa’s floor when she couldn’t resist. Opening the door to the fourth floor, Clarke’s mind is racing with doubt. _What the hell am I doing?_   She eyes Lexa’s room, contemplating knocking, but immediately able to muster the willpower to walk briskly past and quickly turns the corner.

“Holy shit!” Clarke cries.

She had run directly into Lexa around the blind corner.

“Clarke?”

Lexa is dressed in a similar work out outfit; a tight-fitting tank top, hair pulled back, and sweat drying across her perfect skin and resonating muscles. Veins slightly popped from the extra blood, Clarke especially noticed the one that ran down Lexa’s neck and wanted to run her tongue along it.

“I was just down at the gym, I didn’t see you there,” blurts Clarke.

“I prefer to run outside... and what are you doing on my floor?” Lexa follows with a curious tone, “Were you looking for me?”

Dammit, Clarke had never been caught so guilty with no explanation whatsoever.

“What? Of course not. I uh... I was… taking the stairs back up.”

Lexa looks at her skeptically. “Right… Isn’t your room on the other wing of the hotel?”

Completely fluster and even more turned on from the sight of Lexa, Clarke succumbs.

“Oh… fuck it!” exclaims Clarke as she slams Lexa into the wall for a searing kiss.

So much for her willpower, she apparently left a few feet back at Lexa’s door.

Lexa returns with a smoking hot tongue that has Clarke burning past hot, a scorching flame that Clarke wanted in her, right now.

Hopping up, Clarke desperately wraps her legs around Lexa’s waist, needing immediate friction. God Lexa was strong as she carried Clarke into her hotel room, nearly kicking down the door.

Reaching for more skin, Clarke manages to peel Lexa’s top off, barely interrupting their tongues when she realizes Lexa has set her down on the bathroom sink.

Reluctantly pulling herself away from Clarke’s lips, “Stay right there,” says Lexa with commanding eyes as she leans away to turn on the shower.

Clarke wastes no time, pulling her top and sports bra over her head, wigging her bottoms off while kicking her shoes when Lexa returns, somehow equally undressed.

Roughly picking Clarke back up, Lexa steps them into the shower and presses Clarke firmly against the shower wall. Now able to grind directly into Clarke’s bare center.

“Fuck Lexa!” Clarke lets out a crying moan, unaffected by the cold tile walls as the fireball of sensation between her legs is lit even more.

The streams of hot water are unmatched against the heat between them and Clarke is finally able to run her tongue down Lexa’s neck. Feeling the swell of Lexa’s jugular paired with diluted saltiness that Clarke wanted to drink. She’s caught off guard when Lexa slips into her while still holding her up. Anchoring fingers that fill Clarke so deliciously that Clarke can’t help but bite down at the sensation.

Groaning in fury, “Dammit Clarke you best hope that’s below my collar line,” as Lexa flashes a searing look into Clarke’s eyes.

Playing with fire, “Or what?” replies Clarke huskily, smoldering the glowing green coals with her deep blue seas.

Lexa lets out a snarl with a firm thrust and Clarke only feeds off it.

“Oh fuck yeah Lexa, fuck me,” says Clarke through her gritted teeth until Lexa gains reentry with her tongue, capturing each and every one of Clarke’s grunts and expletives with increasing thrusts.

Tearing herself away for more oxygen and overwhelming reach of her brink, Clarke vision goes as she comes against Lexa, long and hard. Finally feeling a satisfying relief from what she’d been yearning for all morning. Legs trembling and body shuddering as waves of release surged through her core.

Clarke doesn’t remember biting down again, but there’s a definite copper flavored tinge on her tongue when she comes to. Blinking the water from her eyelashes, Clarke returns her gaze to dark emerald marbles that glistened with metallic reflections, like they were made of steel. There was absolutely nothing soft about Lexa.

Clarke recovers her own weight without breaking eye contact. Still trying to navigate the jungle before her. Leaning in to meet Lexa’s lips, Clarke continues to hold her gaze, attempting to decipher the code as she kissed. Hitting a firewall with her tongue, Clarke lets her hand drift down when Lexa snatches her wrist, stopping her.

“There’s not enough time, I have to get ready,” says Lexa strictly, “I suggest you do too,” dipping her head further underneath the showerhead. Playtime was over.

“Fine,” Clarke admits, “Then can you pass the soap.”

If it weren’t for a few minutes ago, Clarke swears it’s the most sterile shower she’s ever been in. Like they were being watched by a drill instructor back at the Academy. Only silence complements the steam that filled the bathroom. God, it dRIVES Clarke up the wall, ironic considering the literal just moments ago.

How is Lexa able to do that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to @bdasswarrior for support and Lexa's photographic memory dedicated to @dreaming_wide_awake.


	4. The Presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Lexa has been very closed off. Here’s some more insight. 
> 
> We're rolling back roughly 24 hours to capture Lexa's point of view. ;)

 As the end of the day approached, though tired, Lexa wouldn’t have minded another night with Clarke, especially considering their short lunchtime affair. Reliving the moment, Clarke’s tongue was just as cunning in bed as the courtroom, flicking swiftly against her clit with varying laps and sucks that sent chills down Lexa’s spine at the thought.

However, Lexa had dinner plans with an old colleague she was looking forward to seeing. Her colleague, a retired Master Chief and previous mentor when Lexa first graduated from the Academy, Indra Sprucer. More importantly, Indra was the first person Lexa had come out to while in the service. With Clinton’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (DADT) policy still in place when she first joined, Lexa was extremely careful. Duty always came before anything else.

 

-

 

Shortly meeting Lexa fresh out of the Academy, Ensign Woods at the time, Indra took notice of the young junior officer. After watching too many other dedicated junior officers either get in trouble or simple leave the service because they couldn’t be themselves, Indra offered her mentorship to Lexa. She saw something different in Lexa and it would have been a shame to lose such a smart and driven young woman. In addition to words of advice, Indra gave Lexa a safe space to speak and be open. Lexa was cautious at first, extremely cautious until Indra introduced Lexa to her partner, Susan, and that while difficult, balancing a personal life with a demanding career was possible.

 

-

 

Unsure where Clarke’s boundaries lay, Lexa was under the impression that the night before was a one-time engagement, until Clarke brazenly pulled her back into the elevator during lunch. Sitting at the bar, Lexa sipped her beer expectant to meet Clarke again and at least let the blonde know that she had other plans for the evening. Lexa didn’t mean to sound so rude at Clarke’s offer to buy her another drink, a slip of her compartmentalization she’d mastered over the years. Closing off the scars that formed from each person she couldn’t rescue. Every failed case. It hardened Lexa, like a callus immune to abrasion. It used to be as easy as stripping off her uniform, but as time passed, Lexa began to carry the burden around like an invisible weighted backpack. She had to remind herself to smile every once in a while.

Stepping into a meek drizzle, the temperature was a fair 58 degrees in early autumn, and comfortable in a light rain jacket, Lexa opted to walk. The restaurant was located in downtown Seattle, conveniently less than a mile from the hotel.

Easily spotting Indra at the table, Lexa didn’t have to remind herself to smile.

“Lexa, how are you?” Indra greets with a matching smile and warm, heartfelt hug, “Or should I say, how’s the Commander now?”

Lexa lets her eyes half roll.

“I’m sorry, again, for missing your promotion ceremony last year,” Indra says as she sits.

“Please Indra, stop apologizing for that. I understand Susan was sick, how is she?”

“Good.”

Susan had caught a particularly bad case of the flu that year that hospitalized her, causing Indra to miss Lexa’s promotion ceremony from Lieutenant to Lieutenant Commander.

“And, how’s retirement treating you?”

Indra retired from the military just over two years ago.

“As expected, though house projects are never ending. How are you?” Indra asks.

Swaying her head lightly to balance her words, Lexa speaks, “Let’s just say, the reason I’m here, is not by choice.”

“Mm,” Indra nods in understanding, “Yes, I heard about the case. I’m sorry Lexa. Of all people, especially you. I know you did your best out there and without a doubt, you made the right decision. You always make the right decision.”

Quirking an eyebrow, “Unfortunately those decisions come with consequences,” replies Lexa.

“You mustn’t be so hard on yourself. Not if you plan on lasting, I still have you pegged for Admiral someday.”

“Indra… can we talk about something else?”

The waiter swings by, filling their waters and taking their drink order. Two IPA’s.

“Alright, let’s talk about your favorite subject,” Indra replies.

Lexa’s eyes gleam with amusement. Grinning, Indra was referring to girls.

“C’mon, it’s been six years since DADT was removed and you still act like you have something to hide. Anybody? I’m concerned about your well-being, Commander,” Indra insists.

Letting Indra call her by rank roll off her back like a drop of water on a loon, “Well, old habits die hard. I don’t need to tell you that,” says Lexa, partly mocking Indra’s age and known stubbornness.

“What about that… Costia girl?”

“Indra, you ask about her every time. That was over three years ago when I was stationed in San Diego. Remember?”

“Has it really been that long? Anyway, that was the closest I’ve ever seen you to be happy.”

Lexa shakes her head, “Costia wanted me to get out of the service, give up my commitment. And that’s not something I want. We’ve been over this.”

“Alright, alright,” Indra drops the topic.

The conversation lightens as they order. The Pacific Northwest is known for having excellent seafood, particularly salmon, crab, and clams. Lexa fully indulges in a plate of seafood pasta cooked in a thick buttery white wine sauce topped with parmesan cheese. Indra, cedar planked salmon over a sweet potato mash and mixed grilled vegetables. Unfortunately, metabolism doesn’t increase with age.

It’s barely 8:30pm when Lexa yawns, feeling the effects from the night before begin to take over.

“Tired already? And I thought I was the one getting old,” Indra comments.

Lexa really couldn’t hide anything from Indra, practically growing up with her as a surrogate mother through the majority of her 20’s.

“It’s nothing, I- had a late night yesterday.”

Indra immediate caught Lexa’s hesitation, no matter how slight. Lexa rarely slipped in thought, and even rarer in her speech.

“A late night?” Indra presses for details.

Lexa shoots Indra a glare.

Indra deflects, “Nice try, but that doesn’t work with me, remember?”

“It’s… nobody, Indra.”

“Well, nobody certainly left an imprint if you’re tired. Especially considering that vigorous race you’re always training for. What’s it called again, the Metalman?”

“Ironman,” Lexa corrects.

Indra shakes her head, “You youngsters nowadays. Why you would choose to do that for recreation, I have no idea.”

“I like the challenge. Plus, it’s oddly peaceful,” replies Lexa, thinking about the freedom that came when swimming, biking, and running near endlessly. A chance to let her mind wander and roam without any responsibilities, something progressively rare these days for Commander Lexa Woods.

“So tell me about this, nobody.”

“Christ I swear you get more stubborn as you age,” darting another futile glance, “She’s just someone from the case,” replies Lexa while dragging a piece of bread the in last of her buttery wine sauce.

“From the case?” Indra sits back with curiosity, putting her fork down at 4 o’clock on the empty plate.

Retiring after 26 years of service, Indra had been around the block a few times.

“Lexa, you’re only assigned a single counsel.”

Lexa quirks an eyebrow coupled with a sideways glance. That was all it took for Indra to know.

“You didn’t. Who is it? I must have come across them at some point in my career. There’s not that many of us floating around.”

“You wouldn’t have,” replies Lexa.

“And how would you know that?”

“Direct Commission lawyer. Likely six months or so in the service from my best guess, uniform still looks brand new,” replies Lexa, “I can see the fresh strands of thread hanging out.”

Lexa never missed a detail, sharp as a freshly polished knife.

“Ah,” Indra nods in understanding, “Well, she must have been special for you to break your own cardinal rule. I know you typically don’t like to mingle with other members.”

“It was just a one-time thing Indra. Nothing special.”

“Mm-hm,” Indra didn’t believe her.

 

∞

 

Returning to hotel roughly around 10pm, Lexa thought about knocking on Clarke’s door but decided not to. Considering her own fatigue, the blonde couldn’t have been much better off, especially if jet-lagged.

As her head hit the pillow with stomach pleasantly full, Lexa falls asleep almost immediately. Unfortunately her dreams were not so pleasant. She routinely experienced nightmares, flashbacks of her failures; watching people drown and boats sink in the eye of a storm, unable to help them as they reached out, called her name. Normally a blur of faces, tonight was an exception as Lexa made out blonde locks and blue pupils crossed with explosions, almost like a war, and mass death.

The dream caused Lexa to awake in a gasp. Sitting up and soaked in sweat, Lexa tosses off the sheets in a single motion and rushes to the sink to rinse her face. It was odd how real the dream felt, and even more peculiar that Lexa now recognized the blonde as Clarke, who had somehow embedded herself in Lexa’s unconsciousness. Glancing back at the clock, it’s just before 5am and Lexa doubted she’d be able to fall back asleep. She needed to clear her mind and the best thing for that, a long run.

Changing into some light running gear, Lexa makes her way outside, ignoring the initial chill with full knowledge that her body will adapt to the cool air soon enough. Lexa had always been a fan of the outdoors, an enthusiast really, and regularly taking weekend solo camping trips. Lexa’s garage looked like a miniature adventure store stocked with a couple different sized kayaks, standup paddle board, multiple types of bikes, tents, varying sized backpacks, a couple of pack hammocks, climbing gear, bouldering gear, a pair of skis as well as a snowboard, and several sleeping bags that served their own individual purposes.

The cool air was calming as it filled her lungs and Lexa made her way down to the waterfront of Elliot Bay, blooming with an early morning golden glow of the horizon, the bay sprinkled with green, red, and white mast headlights of vessel traffic, Seattle’s ferry fleet. Reaching the waterside, a whiff of fresh caught seafood and salt took over, reminding Lexa of the days she spent underway as a young cadet. As a pilot, she hadn’t been on a vessel for years and wondered where she’d be if she took an entirely different career path. Lexa’s mind came full circle as she recalled her Harvard acceptance letter all those years ago and her thoughts settled back on Clarke. She didn’t like how the dream made her feel, strangely protective of the blonde.

Entering the hotel, Lexa looks down at her Garmin watch that doubled as a heart rate monitor. Her run was longer than anticipated, and Lexa needed to quickly shower and get ready. Taking the elevator up, Lexa exits and turns the corner when she’s startled by the same woman that marked her dreams. But evidently not as disconcerted as Clarke was, looking quite flustered.

_What’s Clarke doing on my floor?_

The blonde looked like she had also just worked out, sweat glimmering on her lightly tanned skin and beginning to pool at her cleavage. Lexa had to force her eyes away to look Clarke back in the eyes, gradually more appealing each time.

Lexa could only fathom one reason for Clarke’s presence, “Were you looking for me?”

Lexa had to hide her growing smile as she watched the blonde think of an excuse, it was rather adorable. Strapped for time, Lexa was seconds away from asking the blonde to join her in the shower when Clarke already has her pressed against the hallway wall. God did Lexa thoroughly enjoy Clarke’s audacity, sparking her arousal in a new way. Lexa was used to being the one who made the first move, people can be so shy. But not Clarke with legs now wrapped around Lexa’s waist.

Clarke’s tongue was dangerously hot, blistering, and Lexa wanted to have Clarke’s mouth on her again, but not more than she yearned to be in Clarke herself. Glancing at the clock as she kicked in her hotel door, there was barely any time and Lexa quickly walks them into the bathroom.

Pressing the blonde against the shower wall, Lexa elicits a low groan from Clarke as she ground her bare abdomen into Clarke’s center, hot and wet. Clarke was remarkably strong, arms firmly wrapped around Lexa’s shoulders and gripping thighs. With Clarke able to hold herself up, Lexa easily drops a hand, penetrating deep into a pool of warm wetness that coated her fingers.

A sting on her neck briefly draws Lexa’s attention when she realized Clarke had bitten down and could only hope it didn’t leave a mark. Lexa liked to maintain her appearance and sends a warning glare in Clarke’s direction, except Clarke met her stare. Fighting fire with fire, daring her, “Or what?”

Holy shit did that turn Lexa on, provoked at the challenge, Lexa thrusts deeper into Clarke while watching droplets of water hit Clarke’s pale skin mixed with salty sweat, steaming. Leaning in, Lexa licks the full length of Clarke’s neck to capture the essence before returning to Clarke’s lips that parted so right Lexa couldn’t help but force her tongue in for more, practically inhaling Clarke’s moans and fucks.

Inner walls clenching and fluttering against her fingers, Lexa could feel Clarke’s nearing climax as Clarke’s kisses got sloppy, the blonde eventually ripping away as she came. Watching in unexpected awe as Clarke unraveled, Lexa felt like she touched heaven. Clarke was incredibly beautiful. Lexa wasn’t sure where the sudden realization came from, likely influenced by her dreams, but Clarke’s beauty was undeniable as Lexa felt her come. Spilling onto her fingers and shuddering against her in ecstasy, Lexa wanted to hold Clarke forever, keep her safe. So caught up in the blonde’s pleasure, Lexa didn’t even care when Clarke bit down again, much harder than the first and undoubtedly drawing blood.

Lexa was so close to letting the blonde do anything she wanted that it set off a light panic within. _She’s nothing special, remember_? Blaming the dream yet again, Lexa had to remind herself this was a basic arrangement. Purposely hardening her eyes as Clarke kissed her with intent and before she lost all control, Lexa quickly snatches Clarke’s drifting hand. As wet and turned on as she was, Lexa had to keep herself in check.

Conveniently, Lexa had time to blame, “There’s not enough time, I have to get ready,” says Lexa strictly, “I suggest you do too.”

Lexa felt a little bad for being so closed off, but she had to. Forcefully pushing her arousal and Clarke away, Lexa was timid that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself, easily skipping the entirety of the asinine trial and spending the remainder of the week locked in the hotel room with Clarke.

 

-

 

Stepping out of the shower, Lexa winces at the feeling of coarse threaded cotton on her aggravated neck. A set of teeth marks embedded in another, Lexa switches from a wipe to a dab. Her collar will likely hide the mark, but she’ll have to pull it uncomfortably high and tighten the necktie snug against the raw opening.

“Sorry about that…” Clarke says next to her, equally drying off.

Lexa acknowledges Clarke’s apology with a brief look.

Feeling a little remorseful for denying the blonde in the shower, Lexa knew she could easy come off as rude and kind of a bitch. Much more considerate than perceived, Lexa grabs a pair of sweats and navy blue hoodie with orange letters “CGA” on the front and tosses them in Clarke’s direction. Clarke catches them out of the air with a questioning look.

Lexa answers the look, “Unless you want to put on your cold, sweaty clothes to make it back to your room.”

“Oh, um, thanks.” Clarke wasn’t quite expecting the regard from Lexa. Actually, she had no idea what to expect from Lexa at any time, all the time.

Putting on the sweats, “I’ll make sure to get them back to you.”

Lexa responds with a small shrug of nonchalance. A shrug that made Lexa seem… chill. The cool, calm, and collected type of chill. It was throwing Clarke all kinds of off, feeling more perplexed than ever.

_Why was Lexa being so nice and easygoing?_

Trying to mask her own confusion, Clarke draws a clearer line on her way out, “This,” pointing in the space between them and encircling the air referring to what just happened, “This, is… **was** a one-time thing. It won’t happen again,” with a firm tone.

Lexa agrees, “Okay.”

“Just… okay?”

“Yeah. Okay, Clarke,” Lexa responds casually.

“Good,” says Clarke firmly, awkwardly darting her eyes while reaching for more words, “See you downstairs. Bye.”

Lexa nods again, “Okay,” as she watches Clarke peel out the door.

It was oddly cute and Lexa found herself grinning as the door closed. It made Lexa want to prompt another peculiar response from Clarke and lightened her perspective. If Clarke was really serious about not fucking again, Lexa considered having a little fun with the blonde.

 

-

 

Returning to her room, Clarke felt a little embarrassed, still revering lightly in her orgasmic shower. It was quite possible the best shower sex Clarke had ever had. Experienced with a fair number of male and female partners over the years, none came close to Lexa’s vigor; Clarke had never unintentionally bit down on someone like that. Her apology for leaving a mark was sincere.

Turning her focus back to getting ready, Clarke strips off Lexa’s academy sweats, a little annoyed at how ridiculously soft, cozy and good they smelled. It made Clarke want ask what Lexa used for her laundry soap. She had no idea how this woman had such a hold on her. Determined to avoid another sexual encounter, Clarke was just going to have to play Lexa’s cold shoulder game.

Quickly putting on her uniform, buttoning her light blue shirt and neatly tucking it in her trousers, Clarke feels a prickle on the ball of her foot.

“Ow, shit, what the hell?”

Clarke has stepped on a small, gold star. The star that’s missing from Lexa’s uniform.

“Dammit,” Clarke mumbles to herself, picking it up and putting it in her pocket to return to Lexa.

Downstairs, Lexa is already there, standing with perfect posture, perfect face, perfect everything.

Clarke clears her throat and gives Lexa the stoniest greeting she can muster, “Commander.”

“Lieutenant,” Lexa returns with no inflection.

But then, then it’s followed by a set of words that makes Clarke’s blood boil.

“How was your morning?” Lexa quips. 

Clarke instantly relives their moment in the shower. _The best fucking morning I’ve ever had in my life._

Clarke pushes the image of them in the shower as far back as it can go—it might explode out the back of her head.

“Fine,” Clarke replies curtly.  

_Goddammit how is Lexa doing this again?_


	5. The Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving into the meat of the trial.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a lawyer, so cut me some slack for attempting to write courtroom jargon.

Clarke and Lexa depart the hotel and make the short walk to the District office only a few blocks away. Clarke with a small handful of files wrapped in her arms and Lexa, strolling politely with her arms behind her straight back.

“Commander, you’ll likely be put on the stand sometime this afternoon. I’d like to sit down with you during lunch to go over some of the plaintiff’s potential questions as well as my own,” says Clarke as they walk alongside.  

“Of course,” replies Lexa.

“Oh, and here,” says Clarke, reaching into her pocket and opening her palm to reveal a small gold star.

Reaching over, Lexa retrieves her star, noticing the warmth of Clarke’s palm as she lightly dragged her fingertips across.

“Thank you.”

 

∞

 

“Good morning Miss Griffin, Miss Woods.”

They’re greeted by the Mr. Devon McQueen’s lawyer, William McDonald, who insisted on being called Bill. A man of medium height, medium build, mid-forties wearing a somewhat loose khaki suit and wide, light blue tie. Dark hair combed back, not exactly clean cut, and a mustache. His appearance resembled a used car salesman to Clarke, coming off almost sleezeball-ish. Clarke figured he would have to be to take on a case like this. Suing the government for negligence, honestly, the guy must be reaching.

“Good morning Bill,” Clarke greets as Lexa offers a simultaneous nod.

Bill hands Clarke a manila envelope, “Small change in the order of witnesses, I’d like to call Miss Woods to the stand last, after my client.”

Changing the order of witnesses wasn’t a huge deal, but it sent a suspicious feeling down Clarke’s spine.

Clarke nods, “I’ll need to make a few adjustments, but that should be fine.”

-

The morning begins with the case presentation to the established jury, which Lexa didn’t care to revisit. Details stemming from the time the vessel initiated its distress signal to when Lexa and her crew arrived on scene including weather conditions and sea state reports. Descriptions that only reminded Lexa of her recurring nightmares, flashes of lighting, rain, and reduced visibility, Lexa wished she could have been absent from the case background overview. Her own memory served vividly enough.

By 10:00, a short recess is called and Lexa feels the need to rush to the bathroom, not because she had to urinate, but looking forward to a cold splash of water on her face from the case summary. She hated feeling this way. It wasn’t an anxiety attack, but more along the lines of utter failure being shoved back into her face. Looking at the mirror, she could see the burden in her own eyes.

Lexa’s self-reflection is interrupted when Clarke enters the bathroom.

Reactively, Lexa quickly tears a paper towel to wipe her dripping face, but Clarke took immediate notice.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” says Lexa, near embarrassed as she tosses the paper towel away while walking past Clarke.

“Wait,” says Clarke, lightly grabbing Lexa’s arm.

Turning around at Clarke’s clasp, Lexa’s brow raise speaks for her. _What?_

“Here,” says Clarke, hand drifting up along Lexa’s arm and up to her collar.

Clarke’s mark was showing and Lexa hadn’t noticed. Tilting her head back, Lexa let’s Clarke fix her collar with fingers that grazed softly against her neck as Clarke readjusted, she was being more gentle than Lexa would have been with herself.

“There.”

Lexa nods a thanks and proceeds out the door.

Upon their return from recess, they’re ready for witness statements.

Questioning for the crew was fairly simple, revisiting the case and confirming the reported details including each individual’s account of the mission. This takes them through the rest of the morning and into lunch.  

-

Sitting together for lunch, Clarke goes over her questions with Lexa. There weren’t many, Clarke’s line of questioning was clear and concise, just like her jury selection. Finally, Clarke gave Lexa several pointers for the plaintiff’s potential questions and angles of attack.

“Like every witness, you’ll need to summarize your own version of that day, I’m sure you’ve already guessed. Will you be okay with that?”

“Yes.”

“And if you run into any trouble, you have to let me see. Do you understand?” says Clarke.

Lexa nods, “I understand.”

 

∞

 

Returning to the courtroom after lunch, Devon McQueen is called to the stand; a burly man with an overgrown beard, height, six foot something and likely pushing over 300 lbs from life as a crabbing fisherman. Though unaffected by his size and strength, Lexa’s wasn’t immune to his hateful stare, which made her feel more and more remorseful each time.

Mr. McQueen’s statements take them past the second recess of the day, and finally, Lexa is called on the stand by the late, late afternoon. It was apparent the jury was tired, the already thin audience in the back continued to deteriorate, and even the judge produced a yawn as Lexa sat. Clarke suspected this was why Bill wanted Lexa to go last, losing the jury’s interest by the end of the day.

Verbalizing her own memories, Lexa was forced to relieve it all. Needless to say, her photographic memory was not to her own benefit, able to recite every gauge reading, recall the sight when they arrived on scene, and describe every miniscule detail that was asked of her.

Upon finishing her own accounts, Lexa felt some light relief, now prepared for potential questions.

However, the plaintiff takes a **drastic** turn by pulling out a copy of a dated case report. Lexa recognized her own handwriting from the distance as Bill began to read word for word.

“February 23, 2011, Lieutenant Junior Grade Woods, case number 83716. Location: Kodiak Alaska. Fishing Vessel North Star II, homeported out of Ketchikan, AK. Crew – five: Jason Neilson, Philip Stores and his 17 year old son, Philip Jr., Thomas Ackerman, and Shawn Mathis. Status: deceased.”

_What the fuck?_

Lexa’s first lost search and rescue case. The vessel was submerged before she even arrived, though a young co-pilot at the time but still. They searched in the blizzardy sleet for hours, until the helicopter reached its fuel limit and they had to return.

The plaintiff continues without taking a breath, listing EVERY abortive case, brutally picking apart Lexa’s prized ribbons, turning them into reminders that literally sat atop her heart.

Eyeing Clarke, Lexa shakes her head in moderate panic and bewilderment. This isn’t what they talked about during lunch. Not like this, not every case.

Clarke fed as much assurance into Lexa as she could, but couldn’t do anything until the opposing party was done reading. Unfortunately, the “Bill Show” lasted the better part of an hour, diving deep into the details of the recovered dead bodies from the coroner’s report. Almost all of them, death by drowning. 

This, this was what the Bill was waiting for.

Finally, after putting down the stack of old case reports, a question emerges, “So, Commander Woods, all those cases, do you feel… responsible?”

Clarke speaks before Lexa could, “Objection your Honor. Question calls for conclusion, seeking opinion rather than fact.”

“Sustained.”

But it only bought Lexa a small fraction of time as she caught up with what was happening.

“Let me rephrase, were you present for the just aforementioned cases?”

“Objection, asked and answered. Clearly Commander Woods was present based on evidence presented.”

If Clarke could keep Lexa from answering anything, she would.

The judge gives Clarke’s objection some thought, “Overruled, you may answer that Miss Woods.”

Leaning forward into the microphone, Lexa speaks, voice bordering a crack, but only Clarke could tell, “Yes, I was present for the aforementioned cases.”

“And Commander,” says Bill, “Were you… responsible during the aforementioned cases?”

“Objection, leading question your Honor,” Clarke turns, shooting a glare at Bill.

“Mm, barely Miss Griffin. Sustained.”

“Let me rephrase. Commander Woods, did you hold a position of responsibility in each of those cases.”

Lexa gulps a knot so big she swore it echoed through the microphone, “Yes.”

Apparently that was the note Bill wanted to end on, emphasizing Lexa’s responsibility for those deaths.

Looking down at his watch with a scratched face and tattered leather band, “Your Honor, time is approaching 6pm, I apologize for my lengthy introduction, but I’d like to request adjournment now and restart here tomorrow morning.”

“Very, well. We’ll return tomorrow at 0800,” say the judge, smacking the gavel down to close.

The room fills with the shuffling noises of people getting up, sighing with relief as they stand from stiffened legs, backs cracking and yawning stretches.

Clarke heads straight for Bill as soon as the last juror is out.

“I see what you’re doing here, and it’s disgusting. How dare you smear someone’s career like that,” Clarke spits under her breath.

“Hey, I’m trying to win a case here. Got kids to feed,” Bill replies casually.

“It’s despicable.”

“Well, if you’re not up to it, that plea offer is still on the table.”

“No. I’ll see you in the morning, Billy,” Clarke slashes.

-

While exiting the courtroom and walking alongside Clarke, Lexa takes a long winded breath like she had been underwater for hours, feeling much like one of her own victims.

“I don’t know about this Clarke, I-”

“You’re doing fine, just stay with me, okay? The more they make you questions your own judgement, the worse it seems.”

“Well, I did leave somebody to die. **Multiple** people died.”

“You need to stop that kind of thinking. Sacrificing the few for the many, you said it already, you couldn’t risk the entirety of your crew.”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re fine. Now that I see what Bill’s up to, I’ll make up for it tomorrow. But I’ll need to go over a few more things with you. Perhaps over dinner, if you don’t mind?” Clarke says in a strictly professional tone.

“No, I don’t mind,” Lexa replies as they enter the hotel to the elevators.

Stepping out of the elevator, “Meet downstairs in 20 minutes?” asks Lexa.

Clarke nods, “See you downstairs.”

 

∞

 

Changing out into some comfortable clothing, Lexa throws on a casual pair of fitting jeans, t-shirt, and a thick flannelled long-sleeve.

While buttoning, Lexa hears a knock at her door. Opening it, she finds Clarke, a few minutes early with her sweats from the morning neatly folded in one hand and a stack of folders in the other. 

“Hey, sorry I’m early but I just wanted to get these back to you.”

Nodding, “Thanks,” taking the sweats and placing them on top of her suitcase before stepping out in to the hallway to meet Clarke.

Neither of the two cared to eat at the hotel restaurant again and meander down to the waterfront where Clarke had Yelped a decent looking restaurant rated 4.5 stars by a promising 1000 plus reviewers.

The air was cool, though not raining, and they walked in content silence. Clarke somehow no longer bothered by Lexa’s muteness. Glancing intermittently at the woman in her peripheral, Clarke noticed that Lexa’s stride was much more casual than in uniform, hair loosely ponytailed, hands tucked inside her jean pockets, eyes wandering like she was always deep in thought as clouds of moisture trailed her breath.

Clarke contemplated making small talk, except the peaceful stillness didn’t warrant it. Respecting the silence and taking in the serenity that came with an evening stroll while in quiet company.

Sitting down, Clarke breaks open the folder, proceeding with a new strategy and more questions for Lexa to expect from Bill.

-

“Sorry about all of this,” Clarke says as their food arrived, closing the cases and putting them aside.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I should have had better foresight. I just didn’t think they’d go this low, but I suppose they’re desperate enough to. I didn’t prepare you accordingly. Do you have anything else to share, something I might have missed?”

Lexa hesitates and this time, Clarke caught it.

“Look, if you have any weaknesses, they’re going to try to exploit that. You have to tell me,” says Clarke, “Otherwise it’ll put me at a disadvantage.”

Biting her cheek in renunciation, Lexa admits, “I experience occasional… nightmares. And I don’t care to relive the details of lost cases.”

Clarke nods, asking carefully, “Is it traumatic enough to affect your judgement?”

“No,” Lexa replies quickly and in confidence, “It’s always been a lingering aftereffect, never during my line of duty.”

“Thank you, for telling me,” replies Clarke, sincerity in her blue eyes.

Turning to their dinner, Clarke sips a spoonful of acclaimed Pacific clam chowder, rich and creamy.

“Mmm, god that reminds me of home,” says Clarke, grabbing a piece of bread and dunking it in the thick chowder.

“Where’s home for you?”

“New Haven.”

“Connecticut, by the Academy?” says Lexa with a small mouthful of lobster mac n’ cheese.

Clarke nods, “You?”

“My dad was in the Coast Guard before I was born. So I grew up everywhere.”

“Was it difficult?”

“What do you mean?”

“To grow up moving every few years?”

“It was when I got a little older, junior high and high school. But I got used to it, and clearly my way of living now,” Lexa replies.

“Would you ever consider settling down?”

Lexa pauses at the question, recalling the closest she got when with Costia.

Clarke immediately recognized her misstep, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. It was just where the conversation was going. We can talk about something else… like them Dodgers.”

“I’d hate to break it to you, but Dodgers lost Clarke,” Lexa says sarcastically.

“Oh, so she does have a sense of humor,” replies Clarke with small glimmer in her eyes.

Lexa returns with a small smile that made Clarke want to see more. Though just barely a curl at the corner of her lips, it changed Lexa’s entire demeanor, immediately brightening her eyes and glowing facial features. Lexa was pretty, very pretty and Clarke took deeper notice as dinner went on.

“Do you like living in Port Angeles?”

While sipping her beer, Lexa gives the minutest shrug, barely noticeable if Clarke wasn’t studying her so intently.

Lexa had quirks, very small quirks that she didn’t let through while in uniform and Clarke felt herself drawn in. Watching the way Lexa played with a loose strand of hair just before tucking it behind her own ear, the way Lexa sometimes darted eye contact before bringing it back, and finally, the relaxed slump Lexa let past in her posture, like a cute turtle.

-

Comparatively, Lexa finds herself gradually captured by Clarke’s sparkling blue eyes, somehow getting brighter as the evening got darker. It was the worst when Clarke smiled, like a pure ray of sunshine that had Lexa looking away, afraid to go blind. As Clarke continued to study her, like a slide under the microscope, Lexa began to feel… nervous, and accordingly, let her shoulders drop in apprehension.

There wasn’t any outrageous flirting, or any form of flirting at all between the two, but interestingly, their natural selves that had such a profound effect on each other.

Finishing up, they split the bill and make the pleasant walk back to the hotel.

If Clarke hadn’t mentioned their one-time deal just this morning, Lexa would have easily invited Clarke back to her room. But, with respect for the blonde’s words, Lexa wished Clarke a good night as she exited the elevator.

“Goodnight,” Clarke replies as the elevator close.

“Oh, wait!” shouts Clarke, putting her hand between the elevator doors.

Lexa turns.

“I almost forgot. Did you pack your uniform skirt? I’d recommend it for tomorrow and Friday. You’ll look… more innocent in female attire,” Clarke says, treading softly on the subject.

“Yes, I did pack it. But isn’t that… a little sexist Clarke?”

“Completely. But, then again this country voted for Trump. Don’t even get me started,” putting up her hands, “and, that is my opinion and my opinion only and has nothing to do with how I perform my duties,” Clarke finishes.

Lexa internally chuckles at Clarke’s apparent disclaimer.

“Goodnight, again, I’ll see you tomorrow morning Clarke.”

 

∞

 

In bed fairly early by 9:30pm, Lexa hoped to fall asleep as tired as she was, but the day had been incredibly strenuous on her mind, unable to shut out images of the plaintiff reading her previous case reports.

Doubting her ability to sleep, Lexa surrenders and takes a quick shower instead. Cleaning up, Lexa dresses to go out, putting on a white collared shirt and fastening a skinny black tie – mostly to cover up Clarke’s mark, a grey vest, dark fitting jeans and stylish black combat boots. And finally, combing and letting her hair down, freeing it from the usual day’s hold in a bun or ponytail.

Lexa wasn’t necessarily looking to get laid, but a change in atmosphere to distract her wandering thoughts. She planned on a few solo drinks at the bar and letting her eyes freely roam, aiming to decompress.

As always, Lexa chose to walk the few miles to Capitol Hill, where the majority of the gay bars reside, and to her luck, it was Wednesday night, Ladies Night. No cover plus drink specials. Perfect.

Dipping into a bar filled with mostly women, Lexa headed straight for the empty barstool. Amongst the strobing lights, heavy bass, and moving bodies in the middle of the dance floor, Lexa ignored the overlooking balcony, riddled with more people standing and watching the dance floor below.

While waiting for the bartender’s attention, Lexa’s offered a drink by a woman behind her.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Smiling, the voice was all too recognizable.

Looking over her shoulder at the offer, “Yes, Clarke, you can buy me a drink.”

Leaning forward against the bar and rubbing shoulders with Lexa, Clarke makes eye contact with the bartender, “Whatever she wants, put it on my tab.”

The bartender nods, turning to Lexa for her order. Vodka soda with a lime.

Turning around to face the dance floor, Clarke leans back on the bar counter, now touching the opposite shoulder with Lexa and casually sips her drink.

“So, what’s your type?” Clarke says with a raise of an eyebrow while playfully nibbling on the end of her mini drink straw.

Lexa laughs. Actually laughs and Clarke felt like the luckiest person in the world to even catch a glimpse.

“Women,” Lexa wits, sipping. 

“Shocking,” Clarke replies flatly, which prompts another small laugh from Lexa. Clarke almost swooned.

“Seriously, what’s your type?”

Lexa shakes her head, “I don’t have a type,” and turning to face Clarke to meet eyes. “Depends on the woman.”

The statement is flirtatiously directed at Clarke.

“Hm,” Clarke hums as she looks Lexa up and down, visually taking in the full that is, well, sexy Lexa.  

Clarke had been at the club for roughly twenty minutes before she caught sight of Lexa strolling in the front door. Her view from the balcony was ideal for scoping and while Clarke wasn’t looking to sleep with anyone, enjoyed going out and people watching. She had planned to stay topside as a hanging wallflower, witness to sweaty bodies moving below. When Lexa walked in looking sexier than ever, Clarke, along with her idle plans came crashing down the stairs. Lexa’s ability to don a more masculine look beyond her uniform appealed devastatingly to Clarke’s bisexuality.

Lexa’s effortless ensemble bordered the line of gender binary perfectly, encompassing both masculinity and femininity, wearing a handsome tie, collared shirt and open vest with beautiful dark hazel hair that splayed across her shoulders. Tight fitting jeans that sat low, accentuating the curvature of Lexa’s hips, but spliced with robust combat boots, untied and kicking out over her ankles. Lexa looked so damned good, Clarke immediately regretted her words from the morning, wanting to tackle Lexa and ride her into the ground.

Downing the rest of her drink, Clarke abandons her ‘one-time’ words, there was no stopping her now.

“Do you dance?”

Lexa gives Clarke an amused look, “Not normally.”

Clarke takes Lexa’s half empty drink from her hand and sets it down. “I don’t care,” says Clark and firmly grips Lexa’s vest, tugging her onto the dance floor.

Bullshit Lexa doesn’t t dance, whom easily falling in beat with the music with a hand on Clarke’s waist.

Clarke leans in to Lexa’s ear to yell past the blaring speakers, “I thought you said you didn’t dance?”

“I said, not normally, not that I didn’t.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Semantics.”

“You’re the lawyer,” Lexa quips, earning a sneaky curl of a smile on the blonde’s lips that looked so cute that Lexa couldn’t resist.

Lexa grabs Clarke’s hips with both hands and pulls her flush, rolling them further into the beat. Clarke lets out an unexpected gasp, drowned by the melody, but Lexa feels the warm puff of air graze by her ear as they start to move in unison.

Lexa is an _incredibly_ good dancer, pulling Clarke where and how she wants. She steps a thigh in-between Clarke’s legs, pressing and grinding while her hands roam and grip all the right places – the front of Clarke’s hip bones, the small of her back, and tactful ass grabs. And _Jesus_ , does Lexa smell unbelievably good, Clarke cant tell if Lexa’s wearing cologne or perfume—intertwined with the scent of Lexa’s hair, full and free, Clarke wants to baptize herself in it.

They are moving with foreheads pressed, nose touching and lips centimeters apart. Clarke’s eyes are dark, eyeing Lexa’s lips and wanting to connect with them again. Leaning in, she’s disappointed when Lexa leans away, causing Clarke to look up in protest.

Lexa cocks her head ever so slightly, “I thought you said this morning was a one-time thing, Clarke?”

“Call it a week?” Clarke offers, mind entirely changed and biting her lip in irresistibility.

Lexa skims down at Clarke’s lips; she doesnt have much of a choice with the way Clarke is looking at her. So seductive it’s crippling. Lexa answers with tug of Clarke’s jacket, grasping the blonde’s collar up and spinning Clarke around and against the wall for a hungry kiss.

Lexa feels an uncontrollable thirst return and drives in with her tongue, fervent to seize Clarke’s mouth. The speakers drown Clarke’s moan but Lexa feels the rumble in the blonde’s throat. Lexa angles to deepen the kiss and relishes the way Clarke’s tongue works against hers. It’s almost too perfect. Clarke pulling back at the right time to nip, suck and grab before sinking back in again.

Their breathes begin to race hot and heavy into each other’s mouths, time slows as the surrounding lights, bodies, and sounds are reduced by their intensifying kiss. Lexa isn’t sure how much more kissing she’s be able to handle. She wants to take Clarke right now, and considering dragging the blonde into the bathroom. Lexa drops her head drop and shoves Clarke’s chin aside, freely thrashing her tongue against Clarke’s pulse point and drawing a very audible groan. Lexa is seconds away from pulling Clarke out the front door when Clarke speaks into her ear.  

“Let’s go,” Clarke says in a deep, raspy voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though it's not really a cliffhanger, sorry for the somewhat abrupt chapter ending. I’m sure you all know what's coming next. I promise it'll be worth the wait!


	6. The Bargain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas came early for those who follow this fic. Enjoy the second half of the night! It's quite possibly the smuttiest thing I've written so far... pure filth... really. 
> 
> Also, I know many of you are awaiting the trial, which will continue in the next chapter. Have faith in Clarke, she's an amazing lawyer! ;)

The hotel isn’t far from the bar, Lexa made the walk in less than 25 minutes, but Clarke already has her phone out with a Lyft on the way.

While waiting, Lexa feels surprisingly impatient. Eyeing Clarke up and down under the street lights, Lexa can see clearer what Clarke is wearing; a light jean jacket over a low cut shirt that revealed some noticeable cleavage, but classily done, tight black leggings that hugged Clarke’s sexy legs, and calf high boots. Her blonde hair rests in perfect waves, lush and full. Clarke looks good and Lexa feels drawn in like metal to a magnet. Her hands find purchase on Clarke’s hips and Lexa nuzzles blonde locks aside to reach Clarke’s neck.

Clarke grins and briefly pulls away, “Lexa…”

But Lexa is persistent, further cupping Clarke’s far cheek to hold her in place to kiss the soft skin below the blonde’s jawline and is rewarded with a rise in the pulse underneath. Just as Lexa pushes out her tongue for more, Clarke breaks her grasp before she can get another taste.

Lexa growls at the sudden loss.

“C’mon,” says Clarke, taking Lexa’s hand and walking her down the street.

“Where are we going?”

“We have a few minutes,” says Clarke.

Looking up, Clarke is leading them to a sex shop just a few doors down from the bar. Clarke opens the sticker-filled glass door to the sound of a small bell.

Lexa leans into Clarke’s ear, “What did you have in mind?” 

“I know exactly what I want,” says Clarke, spotting the strap-on and dildo displayed midway along the right wall.

Clarke easily takes her decision off the wall and places it on the check-out counter.

“Evening ladies, look at you two cute things,” the sassy man behind the counter chirps. He scans and bags the items with a few event flyers and free lube samples. “Sooo, how long have you beautifuls been together?”

Lexa shoots him an irritated glare while reaching into her back pocket for her wallet.

“Oh, she looks like a feisty one,” he comments to Clarke.

Clarke pulls a small roll of cash from her bosom before Lexa opens her wallet, tossing a few bills on the counter for the cashier.

“Looks can be deceiving, keep the change,” says Clarke, and then turns to Lexa. “C’mon, ride’s here,” and intertwines Lexa’s hands while taking the plastic black bag.

“Thanks, dear!”

Getting in the car after Clarke, Lexa’s annoyed about the literal third wheel of a driver and wondered how inappropriate it would be to just straddle and kiss Clarke in the back seat. Lexa certainly has a little more decency than that, but she does freely let her left-hand reach across to Clarke’s thigh- very high on Clarke’s thigh, rubbing and squeezing with temptation.

“Mmmm…” she hears Clarke hum. “Stop that Lexa…” Clarke mumbles.

“Or what?”

Before she realizes, Clarke scoots closer and shamelessly swings her legs over to straddle Lexa.

“Or this,” grunts Clarke as she presses her lips back onto Lexa’s in a hungry kiss.

Lexa hasn’t felt this out of control since she was a teenager pining after girls in school. She openly grabs Clarke’s ass and pulling her down into dry humps as they make out feverishly in the back seat of a stranger’s car.

Thankfully, for the driver, the trip is short when the girls hear an audible, “Ahem,” as the vehicle comes to a stop.

Clarke pops open the door, “Thank you!” Clarke emphasizes, reminding herself to tip the driver extra as she yanks Lexa out by her tie. Lexa doesn’t mind.

-

Lexa slams Clarke against the back of the elevator, the box doesn’t move fast enough with Lexa’s tie loose and the first few buttons of her shirt undone. Clarke is already unzipping Lexa’s pants when the doors open.

Scrambling into the room, Clarke immediately sheds her jacket, carelessly letting it drop and pulling her shirt overhead. Boots are kicked off, bras thrown, and underwear haphazardly tossed aside.

Clarke reaches for the bag and opens the package with her teeth. Lexa watches curiously as Clarke begins to put the strap-on... on herself.

Lexa shoots Clarke a confused look, “Clarke… I think you might have gotten the wrong impression.”

Clarke glance back with dark, dark eyes. They are pitch black, like the deepest parts of the ocean where sunlight never touches. 

“No. I don’t think so,” says Clarke, firmly. 

Lexa puts her hand atop Clarke’s to slow her fastening, “Clarke, I don’t normally… receive,” says Lexa, drilling into Clarke’s eyes to try and match Clarke’s determination.

Clarke lightens her look to an inviting one, “Oh come on Lexa,” emphasizing the ‘x’ in Lexa’s name, ignoring Lexa’s hand to finalize the last strap and pulling the dildo out. “Always gotta be the big alpha dog? Hm?”

Lexa feels her own eyes ignite at the challenge with no response other than holding Clarke’s gaze.

Clarke loosens her look even more and playfully winks, “I’ll even warm it up for you,” and proceeds to put the dildo in her own mouth, slowly sticking out her tongue, licking and sucking. It’s sinful.  

“Mmmmmm….” Clarke feigns and giving Lexa a look so fucking filthy Lexa isn’t sure if she wants to slap Clarke or spin her around and fuck her.

But, she does neither, still holding Clarke’s eyes in this apparent struggle for power, lava spilling into water, clashing equally.

Clarke pops the dildo out of her mouth, “I’ll make you a deal,” she begins to bargain. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. _Whatever_ you want, if, you let me go first. You can even stay on top.”

Clarke’s words seem to resonate with Lexa as the seething in her eyes dim.

“Afraid you might like it?” Clarke pushes.

It’s not as if Lexa’s never received, spending the majority of her early 20’s experimenting. After refining what she liked, Lexa just never looked back.

“No Clarke, I just know what I like.”

Clarke daringly drags the tip of the dildo up Lexa’s thigh, “I’ll even go slow for you, is that what you’d like?”

Whatever tactic Clarke is using, it’s working. The perfect balance of patience, seduction, and most of all, most appealing to Lexa, Clarke’s artful display of defiance. A dare for Lexa to take. It’s a new dynamic for Lexa, overpowering, and she is drawn into Clarke’s orbit, a physical law she can’t disobey; gravity.

Lexa grabs the dildo by the full of the shaft, pulling it away from her inner thigh and Clarke feigns another moan.

“Just… this once,” Lexa replies firmly, then slowly lets go of the shaft.

Clarke beams with a dirty smile, “Atta girl.” She shoulders past Lexa and sits on the bed, fastening the dildo.

Lexa begins to climb on top when Clarke pulls her all the way down in a falling kiss.

“Come here first,” says Clarke, motioning Lexa all the way up to sit on her face.

Obliging, Lexa crawls her way up and is met with a pleasure when Clarke’s tongue hits her clit, lapping with warmth and targeted flicks. She tosses her head back at the sensation and Clarke grips her ass down for more contact. Feeling Clarke’s tongue routinely dip into her, Lexa is unsure how Clarke is even breathing at this point.

Riding and grinding, Lexa is close. So close. Reaching up to twirl and squeeze her own nipples, Lexa is seconds from coming when Clarke sits up, nearly tossing her off and reminding Lexa of Clarke’s robustness.

Lexa doesn’t even have a chance to protest when she’s met with a mouthful of her own essence as Clarke presses in a kiss. 

With Lexa still straddled on top, Clarke extends a hand between, superficially circling Lexa’s clit that feels so fucking good but not nearly enough, eliciting a near whine from Lexa, “Clarke…”

Clarke slips in a single finger and it drives Lexa insane, wanting more.

Needing more.

Throbbing with desire.

Lexa isn’t about to beg, but by god, she wants to and close to yanking Clarke’s hand away to ride the dildo herself. Lexa is easily wet enough to take it all in one swift thrust.

“Tell me, what do you want?” Clarke whispers mockingly while fucking Lexa with a single finger.

“Clarke…” scowls Lexa, warning in her desperate state. “You’re so fucked after this.”

Clarke smiles malevolently, “I’m looking forward to it,” says Clarke, while pulling her finger out and replacing it with just the tip with evermore teasing swipes along Lexa’s folds.

Clarke can see the look of desperation behind Lexa’s hooded eyes and finally settles at her entrance. Clarke presses in the first inch, then stops as Lexa’s breath hitches, then slowly proceeds to guide Lexa down, deliciously splitting her deeper and deeper until she’s all the way in.

Clarke moans at the sight of Lexa on top, abs perfectly flexed, “Oh yeah, just like that Lexa…”

Pausing for Lexa to acclimate to the fulfilling stretch, Clarke nips at Lexa’s lower lip while raking her fingertips up and down Lexa’s back. Touching her soothingly, Clarke nuzzles her way under Lexa’s jaw, kissing, then licking past her own mark and down Lexa’s chest before taking in one hardened nipple in her mouth and the other in her hand. It draws a sharp hiss from Lexa and Clarke yearns for more. Sucking harder and rolling Lexa’s nipples with more pressure.

Lexa begins to rock slowly on Clarke’s lap, “Yeah… that’s it,” says Clarke, meeting Lexa with soft thrusts until they found a comfortable rhythm together.

Moving in perfect cadence, Lexa’s whimpering moans sound so sweet Clarke can’t even believe it’s the same stone cold woman she met a few days ago. It’s a little too mesmerizing as Clarke watches Lexa unfold, transfixed on Lexa’s flawless body, cut from the gods as sweat begins to make Lexa’s skin shimmer like gold.

Lexa’s plush lips part perfectly and Clarke recaptures them in a breathtaking kiss, causing Lexa to sighs into her and Clarke only wants to give this goddess more.

Wetting her fingertips with her own tongue, Clarke drops her hand down, connecting deftly with Lexa’s clit, swirling as she increases her thrusts.

“Clarke…” Lexa moans, burying her face into Clarke’s neck and gripping the blonde’s hair.  

The feeling is overwhelming for Lexa, Clarke filling her to the brim and moving in absolute sync. It only takes a few circling swipes of Clarke’s fingertips that has Lexa’s orgasm spilling in a wave of fucking disaster. 

Lexa feels lost at sea as she holds onto Clarke for dear life like a ring buoy. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over Lexa’s body until she isn’t even sure how she’s still upright.

Regaining consciousness, Lexa’s still catching her breath, face resting against Clarke’s neck when she licks a hint of blood from her own lips. Somehow, she had bitten down on Clarke without even knowing.

Lexa looks up to meet Clarke’s eyes and catches sight of the ocean that she had momentarily drowned in.

“Still know what you like?” Clarke cracks huskily.

-

Clarke witnesses Lexa regain her bearings; Lexa's eyes shift from a blurred trance to a blazing fury and Clarke swears Lexa is going to breathe fire—as if she just unleashed the dragon caged deep within Gringotts. Clarke almost regrets her words.

“You’re done, Clarke,” Lexa snarls.

Lexa sits up and off the dildo, then kisses Clarke with so much momentum they fall back on the mattress. 

She takesnhold of Clarke’s wrists and pins them overhead with one hand. With the other, Lexa rips the contraption off Clarke’s waist and immediately plunges in deep with her fingers. Clarke is drenched.

“Fuck Lexa!” Clarke screams.

Lexa spends a few long moments thrusting in and out, Lexa can feel Clarke’s walls begin to tighten. Clarke is close, too close for Lexa’s liking, so Lexa slows down to a tease and pulls out.

“What-” Clarke is about to protest but is cut off when Lexa pulls her up and flips her around like a rag doll, onto her hands and knees.

Clarke can hear the familiar sounds of the straps going back on, and turns to look over her shoulder. She finds Lexa fastening the strap-on with what can best be described as vengeance in her dark, green eyes. This time, it’s the depths of a forest that sunlight never hits and if you got lost, no one will ever find you. It gives Clarke goosebumps and she can’t tell whether or not she’s afraid or more turned on than ever. Probably a bit of both.

Lexa mounts Clarke and grabs her by the hair, though not terribly hard, just enough to turn Clarke’s attention and speak into her ear.

“What do _you_ want?” Lexa echoes.

Clarke bites her lip to hold her silence but sends Lexa a glare from the corner of her eye. She isn’t going to give in so easily.

Clarke feels Lexa let go of her hair in a light shove, then drag the tip along her entrance and proceed to press the entire length of the shaft against her wet sex, sliding it up and down. 

“Mmmmm…” Clarke moans.

Arching her back, Clarke is aching and leans back for more, except Lexa backs away.

“Lex-”

Clarke is cut off with the sudden feeling of Lexa’s tongue on her. A single swipe from clit to entrance before Lexa dives in with her tongue and Clarke can’t help but push back, feeling Lexa’s hot tongue inside that draws more wetness.

Clarke is throbbing in every way possible, seeking hard for release but Lexa is barely giving her enough with continuous light laps and superficial dips, not even sucking. Just a tease that has Clarke dripping with painful desire.

“Lexa, please!” Clarke begs.

Pulling her tongue off Clarke, “What do you want, Clarke?”

“You,” Clarke pants, “I want you.”

Getting up onto her knees and remounting Clarke, “And what is it you want me to do?” asks Lexa, taking the tip and teasing Clarke with it once again.

Lexa really is going to make her say it all.

“I want you, to fuck me.”

With that, Lexa sinks deep into her with a single skilled thrust and Clarke tosses her head back with a satisfied moan from the initial fill.

Feeling a light tug from a fist in her hair, Clarke obliges, leaning her head back as Lexa draws almost all the way out, giving her time to anticipate, and thrusts back in with perfect momentum. Clarke responds with another rippling moan. Lexa pulls out again, ever so slowly, and again, plunges in with intent.

Gradually, Lexa quickens the pace with a hand on Clarke’s hip, controlling her movements. Loosening her hand from Clarke’s hair, Lexa rakes it down her back, causing Clarke to arch at the sensation, feeling feral like a lioness.

“Fuck! Yes!” Clarke cries as Lexa speeds up, gripping Clarke’s ass and spreading her deeper.

“Yes! Lex, yes!” shouts Clarke, backing up and meeting Lexa with each increasing thrust.

With her knees quaking and core tightening, Clarke feels her orgasm climbing sky high.

Lexa angles down and begins to glide past the spot harder, which has Clarke buckling at the peak. Clarke’s body freezes before tumbling down, her arms and legs give with face planting into the pillow. Lexa continues to ride her just right, carrying her through the first drop and into another that has Clarke screaming bloody murder into the pillow.

After a few moments of rest, Clarke attempts to salvage some composure, wiping the spit from her mouth that trails off the pillow. Lexa is still in her when Clarke feels the weight of Lexa on her back.

“Mmmmm…” Clarke hums as Lexa nuzzles into her ear.

Clarke’s just starting to recover when she feels a light grind, coaxing her back up. She sighs at the unexpected movements.

“You don’t honestly think I’m done with you?” Lexa whispers huskily into her left ear, followed by the drag of her tongue up Clarke’s neck. “C’mon Clarke,” Lexa tempts, “I know you have another one in you.”

Lexa’s movements are slow and methodical, patient even, and Clarke feels herself getting worked up all over again at an easy pace. Clarke begins to raise her hips as Lexa presses her pelvis down, meeting her cadence.

“Atta girl,” Lexa mirrors.

Clarke gasps when she feels Lexa’s knees push hers apart, opening her further and initiating a new phase of arousal.

Now shoving her hips back and ass flush against Lexa, Clarke is seeking more.

She needs it to be faster, harder, when Lexa whispers in her ear, “Now, up,” and feels Lexa lean back, pulling her along so they’re both on their knees. Clarke is in a reverse straddle with her back pressed against Lexa’s chest.

Lexa takes her the rest of the way, maintaining the same grinding rhythm but brings both hands up, cupping the full weight of Clarke’s breasts. Lexa takes a nipple in between each of her fingers, rolls and pulls. 

“Oh my god… Lex….” Clarke sighs, dropping her head back in a loll on Lexa’s shoulders while sinking deeper onto Lexa’s body.

Clarke feels Lexa drop a hand and take her clit between her fingertips. Still sensitive, Clarke lets out a shuddering sigh. 

Lexa immediately pulls away, “Sorry,” she whispers. _God_ , is Lexa’s voice ever so soft that has Clarke sinking in a whole new way.

Lexa wets the tips of her fingers with her tongue and returns with more caution. Slowly, she takes Clarke's swollen wound bundle in silky smooth circles, and Clarke is _overwhelmed_ with pleasure.

Forget about Lexa being cut from the gods earlier, she is a fucking god. Touching Clarke _everywhere_ , hitting every erogenous zone. Lips suckling on the base of her neck, back flush against hot skin, breasts perfectly tended, outside massaged and insides filled. Clarke is completely immersed in ecstasy, incoherently moaning, sighing Lexa’s name, and praising god like she’s never before.

Lexa’s fingertips change from gradual circles to swift flicks, bringing Clarke to a whole new level and the absolute edge of coming. Clarke grips the nape of Lexa’s neck for something to hold onto and intertwines her other hand with Lexa’s on her chest. And then, Lexa does something Clarke doesn’t even recognize, changing the angle, pace or combination thereof, but Lexa’s hips rise to meet Clarke differently and Clarke can’t breathe.

“Come for me Clarke,” is the last thing Clarke hears before falling into complete oblivion. Pleasure shocks her to her core and she can’t even muster a scream. Her body convulses in jolts with each thrust Lexa gives before going limp like being electrocuted.

Lexa holds onto her and they fall together.

Slowly recuperating, Clarke feels Lexa shift, still inside. Clarke is utterly done and if Lexa is going to press on for more, she would have to ask her to stop. Now that would be a first for Clarke. But Lexa doesn’t and eases out.

Waiting for Lexa to return against her back, Clarke is disappointed when she feels Lexa roll off the bed. Cool air wisps at the sweat on her back, causing Clarke to shiver and miss the warmth that hugged her so close seconds ago. Turning around, Clarke instinctively pulls the sheet up her body while her eyes follow the woman to the bathroom.

Clarke watches intently as Lexa returns with a glass of water, silently offering it to her.

Nodding, Clarke takes the glass, gulping as soon as the water hit her lips. She’s much thirstier than she thought, probably from all the screaming, panting, and evidently, praying.

Setting the glass down on the nightstand, Clarke’s glad to feel Lexa lie back down and scoot under the sheets. She can’t see or tell much from Lexa’s eyes or facial expression, the room now dark minus the light glow from the crescent moon through the window, and Clarke gauges from the silhouette of Lexa’s body language.

Lexa extends her right arm, creating an open space. An invitation.

Accepting the invitation, Clarke nestles herself snugly against the side of Lexa’s body; throwing her right leg over a thigh and settling her face in the crook of the brunette’s neck. Clarke basks in the scent of Lexa’s hair, letting it lull her to sleep, and finally, Clarke feels happy when Lexa presses a kiss on her forehead.

 

∞

 

Lexa is back in the chopper again with lighting cutting across the sky, sounds of rain mix with radio static, and sights of unrecognizable faces blurring.

They are calling out to her.

“Help me… Lexa... Lexa... Lexa…”

The sea of voices sharpens and gradually turn into one, Clarke’s voice.

“Lexa, Lexa.”

Lexa sits up in a gasp, realizing that Clarke is, in reality, saying her name and waking her up.

“Lexa, are you alright?”

With heavy breaths, Lexa puts her face in her hands and swallows, feeling the calm of Clarke’s hand caress her back.

“Nightmare?” Clarke asks.

Lexa nods.

“Here,” Clarke picks up the glass of water from the nightstand.  

Lexa takes a few sips before handing it back, “Thanks. What time is it?”

“Just past four. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, but you were twisting and turning.”

Clarke places a few kisses along Lexa’s shoulder, causing her to hum. "Mm."

“Do you get them all the time?”

Lexa shakes her head, “They come and go. Some months are better than others.”

“Are you able to go back sleep?”

Lexa shrugs, “Sometimes.”

Clarke gently pulls Lexa down, “Try, you should get as much rest before the morning,” says Clarke, pressing her chest firmly against Lexa’s back, tucking an arm under Lexa’s pillow, wrapping the other around Lexa’s torso and pulling her close.

Lexa is typically weary when girls spoon her, mostly associating it with neediness, except Clarke isn’t most girls, which is becoming clearer. Clarke has the opposite effect, feeling strong and protective. Shielding. Safe. And Lexa is able to fall back asleep, even if it’s just for a few hours.

When Lexa wakes, Clarke is still snug against her back. Lexa turns to find Clarke awake, crystal clear blue eyes as the morning glow of sunlight replaces moonlight.

“Hey… morning,” says Clarke sweetly.

“Morning, did you fall back asleep?”

“Only for another hour or so, I’m still catching up on East Coast time.”

Clarke had patiently held Lexa until she woke. It’s incredibly endearing and Lexa doesn’t know what to say.

The mark on Clarke’s neck she’d left catches her eye. Lexa reaches out and brushes the outline of her own teeth, “Sorry,” Lexa apologizes.

“I’m not,” replies Clarke with a smirk.

That smirk. A smirk that makes Lexa look down in a moment of flattery, which in turn, causes Clarke feel just a little bit special—to be able to woo a woman like Lexa. Even in the slightest way.  

“I have to head back to my room,” says Clarke while combing her fingers through Lexa’s soft, soft hair, “I need to review some more details from your file. Will you be alright?”

Lexa takes Clarke’s hand in her hair and interlaces it with her own, “I’ll be just fine Clarke, thank you though,” and kissing back of Clarke’s hand before letting it go.

Lexa's eyes follow as Clarke gets up to gather her scattered clothes, putting on the minimum to make it back to her room.

“See you in a bit,” says Clarke with a small smile as she exits.

Lexa nods with a single blink in response.

-

As soon as the door closes, Lexa collapses back against the fluff of her pillows with hands on her face, covering a sheepish grin. Last night, Clarke was amazing and Lexa is enamored. No one had ever moved with her like that. Well, no one except Costia, but that was after they’d been dating for over six months. Lexa suspects that Clarke is fairly experienced and attributes it partially to that, but the remainder is a mystery.

Clarke had stripped Lexa of her armor faster than anyone ever had, punching straight through like Jello. Lexa did, in fact, thoroughly enjoy Clarke fucking her. It took a different kind of trust, a trust that Lexa didn’t give lightly.

Maybe because Clarke is, first and foremost, her lawyer and knew more about Lexa than most after 48 hours. Or maybe it’s Clarke’s intelligence coupled with her beauty that swayed Lexa so far off balance. Moreover, maybe it’s Clarke’s audacity and diligence paired masterfully with her persistence. 

Clarke is dangerous. This, Lexa recognized. Except, Lexa is well out of willpower as if it's a finite source. Expendable and once you’re out, you’re fucked, like using the last of your gasoline while stranded in the middle of the ocean. Lexa had evidently emptied the tank when she stopped Clarke yesterday morning in the shower. Sure enough, Lexa woke up lost at sea.

Lexa can’t help herself and wishes she could take Clarke out to breakfast. Since Clarke is going to be too busy to go out for the morning, Lexa can at least buy her breakfast.

Reaching for the phone, Lexa dials zero.

“Hi, yes, can I get two orders for breakfast, please. Eggs, bacon, and toast. Peanut butter and all jellies. Throw some fruit in there too. Both, coffee and orange juice. Actually, I need it split. Rooms 413 and 703. Yes, but under my name. Mm-hm, Woods. Thank you.”

 

∞

 

Drying her hair after showering, Clarke hears a knock.

“Room service!” a man shouts through the door.

That’s odd, Clarke hadn’t ordered any room service when she opens the door to a couple plates of food, coffee, and orange juice.  

“Hi, are you sure you have the right room? I didn’t order anything,” says Clarke.

Reading a small piece of paper, “Room 703, that’s you. Oh, and here you go Miss,” says the bellhop as he hands her a small piece of paper.

Unfolding the note, Clarke reads:  _Enjoy your breakfast. See you downstairs. –L_

Clarke can’t hide her widening smile, cajoled.

The thing is, Lexa’s a closeted romantic and Clarke just got a taste of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be on the lookout to my Xmas oneshot sequel to fic First Class on the 25th!


	7. The Character

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More trial drama where:
> 
> "Clarke mounts an excellent rebuttal to Mr. Dickwad's pathetic attempt to reduce Lexa's accomplishments by highlighting her minuscule failures, Lexa sits in the witness box admiring the savvy spectacle that is Clarke."   
> \- @clexicon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to get this out to you readers earlier, but this weekend was crazy! #UnityDays2018 event and met so much more of this amazing fandom in person and made some new friends. Love you all!

Sitting down at the hotel desk with laptop propped up alongside her delivered plates of breakfast, Clarke pulls out her phone to make a call.

“Good morning, this is Lieutenant Junior Grade Martinez, Coast Guard Legal Office. How can I help you?”

“Hey Dillan, it’s Lieutenant Griffin.”

“Good morning LT, quite early over there. Need something?”

“Yes, actually. Can you access the file for Commander Lexa Woods. I only brought her background and career snapshot with me. I need access to all of her previous case reports.”

Clarke hears the distinguishable clicking of keypads and mouse from the other side.

“Mm-kay, let’s see here…” Dillan replies, “You want _all_ her case reports? They date back to 2011.”

“Yeah, I know, just dump them in my Dropbox.”

“It’s quite the caseload. Do you still plan on finishing by Friday then? Or should I look into flights for next week?”

“No, keep the Friday evening flight. I’ll text you by the end of today if anything changes.”

 “Alright, LT, you got it,” more mouse clicks, “’Kay, dropping them in now… So how’s the weather in Seattle, rainy?” Dillan makes small talk to fill the silence on the line. Clarke didn’t mind, Dillan, though young, was a smart kid and hard worker.

Clarke peers out her window, “Actually, it’s looks pretty nice out today.”

_Shame._

Clarke had never been to the Pacific Northwest before, but did frequently enjoy the outdoors. Instilled into her at a young age, Clarke’s father routinely took her on camping and hiking trips. Olympic National Park was high on Clarke’s bucket list. _Someday._ Clarke thought to herself, someday she’ll make a full trip back out to hike the Pacific Rim and summit Mount Rainer.

Dillan speaks, interrupting Clarke from her fantasy walk through the rain forest.

“Files have been loaded, you should see them now.”

“Great,” Clarke replies as she clicks through her laptop, “Got it.”

“Anything else?”

“No, that’s it. Thanks again, Dillan. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Opening Lexa’s old case files, scanned copies of hand written reports, Clarke skims the details. Details that Billy omitted for his attack angle, and more importantly, details for Clarke to build a rebuttal. It didn’t take long. Though Lexa’s writing was concise, an extension of her brevity really, it captured everything Clarke needed. All the facts, no opinions, and perfect descriptions.

Taking brief notes with her bites of bacon, Clarke committed most to memory. Unlike Lexa, Clarke did not have a photographic memory, but instead, had _great_ memory.

∞

The doors of the elevator open and Clarke easily spots Lexa in the hotel lobby, waiting in exemplary uniform, as usual, but in a skirt this time that matched Clarke’s.

Though it’d barely been just over an hour since she saw Lexa, Clarke felt a flutter in her chest as their eyes made contact. Her breath hitches as if she saw an angel, rays of sunshine extend past the clouds and penetrate the lobby, highlighting the dark edges of Lexa’s uniform with a glowing appearance, the perfect contrast.

Feeling like she was approaching heaven, Clarke was speechless and by god was she ready to swoon when she caught sight of the angel smile. It was soft, sweet, and oh so kind. A smile meant for Clarke, so rare and beautiful that she wanted to take a picture to save that moment forever.

The angel speaks, breaking Clarke from her dream, “Good morning.”

“Uh,” continuously blinking, “Morning,” replies Clarke, coming to.

“You look nice today,” says Lexa.

Lexa near rolls her eyes at herself, obviously she had seen Clarke in uniform everyday but couldn’t think of anything else to say. Clarke wasn’t the only one enthralled as Lexa found herself equally captivated the second she spotted Clarke exit the elevator. Lexa couldn’t hold back the smile that inched across her face. Beams of sunlight illuminated Clarke’s path like a model, highlighting Clarke divinely; blonde hair shimmering and blue eyes twinkling like the crest of waves at sunrise.

“Shall we?” Clarke nods in the direction of the glass doors.

Lexa nods and they step off in sync to a silent cadence that was their own.

Glancing up at the sky, it was an especially nice day in Seattle with scattered fluffy white clouds and pockets of blue sky.

“It’s a beautiful day today,” says Lexa, taking a full breath in admiration of not just the sky, but the way sunlight landed on Clarke. She looked even better, bright and brilliant, Clarke’s full charisma brought out by the sun.

The sight of Clarke makes Lexa’s chest swell, thinking about their circumstances and all the possibilities a sunlit day in Seattle held. A simple nature retreat like going on a hike or an urban outing in Seattle’s illustrious Pike’s Place Market filled with fresh seafood, flower booths, handmade crafts, and delicious sugary treats.

“It’s a shame we’re trapped indoors,” Lexa adds.

She begins to envision the fictitious day in its entirety. A mid-morning hike into the shades of a cooling pine forest, then back to the hotel for a shower, likely some shower sex, followed by lunch downtown. Then they’d spend the remainder of the afternoon at Pike’s Place, perusing local vendors with fingers intertwined, stop by a florist where Lexa would undoubtedly purchase a small bouquet for Clarke, and ending with dinner reservations at a seafood restaurant by the water; outdoor seating under heat lamps, complimented by the sounds of water splashing against the pier.

But no, they wouldn’t have time for that today. Lexa looks down in a brief moment of disappointment, realizing that they would never have time for any of it. Their time together limited to the end of the week, like a prolonged Cinderella story.

Clarke must have caught Lexa’s moment of discontent.

“I know,” Clarke says with deep meaning and understanding in her eyes, “It’s a shame.”

They continue down the sidewalk in easy silence, both soaking up as much sun, and each other, as possible before stepping foot into the courthouse. Reality quickly becoming reversed, playing pretend in the courtroom.

Greeted by the sight of Bill, they are both unpleasantly reminded. “Good morning ladies.”

Both Clarke and Lexa reply with a nod.

“Lovely day, you know Miss Griffin, that uh, plea bargain still available if you and Miss Woods change your minds. Couple mil’ for my client’s loss and demotion for Miss Woods. We’re not even asking her to resign from the service. Not a bad deal to me, could easily give us and the jury the rest of the day off,” he says slyly.

Clarke brings her eyes to Lexa’s, just go confirm they were still on the same page. It took less than a second when Lexa closes her eyes and Clarke understood the solitary blink. _No._

“No thank you Bill,” Clarke replies, “We’ll proceed as planned.”

“Alright, suit yourself. After you two lovely ladies,” Bill gestures into the courthouse.

Clarke and Lexa both almost gag, Lexa smirking as she caught the roll in Clarke’s eyes.

Entering the courtroom, everyone retakes their positions. Shuffling of shoes, flittering of papers, and clearing of throats echo throughout the wooden planked walls and Lexa resumes her seat on the stand feeling a tad less apprehensive.

Bill stands, clearing his throat, “Good morning your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” looking down at his notes, “Yesterday, we left off with Miss Woods’ confirmation of holding a position of responsibility for a total of 29 deaths. Would you consider that accurate, Miss Woods?”

Lexa resisted the impulse to glare, Bill didn’t exactly summarize her career in an ideal manner, though he was correct, “Yes,” Lexa replies in the microphone.

“29 deaths,” Bill restates and approaches the jury, “29 nine deaths of which 17 were fathers, 7 mothers, and 5, under the age of 18. Children, really,” Bill pulls off his glasses and feigns sorrow.

 _Oh for fucks sakes._ Clarke thinks to herself. Sometimes she hated being a lawyer, the ability for others in her field for such dramatization. Though Clarke dawdled in dramatics herself, wondered if she should maybe have just been an actress at times. Acting without the burden of a multi-million dollar case against the government.

Bill shrugs at the jury, “I don’t know about you, but 29 deaths and yet, Commander Woods is still allowed to fly. Allowed to continue this… path. Huh?”

Lexa was beginning to feel uneasy with the way Bill was presenting her occupation. Seeking reassurance, Lexa finds it in Clarke’s eyes. Lexa recognized that look, because it was the same one she gave to those she rescued. A looked that compelled trust and reassurance. Lexa just never anticipated being on the receiving end. Clarke was incredible strong and like a lifeline, fed assurance into Lexa while sitting on the stand. It was empowering each time and Lexa was never more willing to give someone such trust and confidence, as if she were the victim and Clarke, the pilot. Relying on Clarke to rescue and navigate them home safely.

“Let me ask you this, if a drunk driver drove into a bus and killed 29 people, we typically call that murder, manslaughter at least.”

Clarke stands, “Objection your Honor! Completely irrelevant!”

Bill speaks over Clarke just to squeeze out his point, “And yet she gets charge with mere negligence!? She’s getting off easy!”

The judge taps the gavel several times, “Settle down Mr. McDonald. Miss Griffin’s objection is sustained, this is a case regarding negligence,” and turns to look at the jury, “may I remind the jury this and please disregard Mr. McDonald’s notion pertaining to murder or manslaughter.”

Though the jury all nod, Bill made his point. He just needed to plant that idea in their heads.

“Mr. McDonald,” the judge continues, “Please withdraw your statement for the purpose of this trial.”

“Very well,” he says like a snake, “statement withdrawn,” and turns his attention back to the jury. “Though, let’s go back to the example of the case of the drunk driver.”

“Objection your Honor, still, relevance? This isn’t about impaired judgement,” Clarke clarifies.

“Oh, but it is about judgement,” Billy fights his case.

The judge sighs at her own decision, “Objection overruled. Mr. McDonald, I’ll allow you to continue.”

“Thank you, your Honor,” and turns to face the jury, yet again, “A drunk driver these days, if caught, let’s say just pulled over. Doesn’t hit anything, doesn’t hurt anyone, just pulled over because of the decision to drink too much. What’s the consequence, huh? For any of us, a DUI means a monetary fine, jail time, and revocation of license. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Most of the jury nod.

“Then I’m asking you to consider the same for Commander Woods over there.” Billy continues, “She made a decision that lead to a death and she should be held responsible. We’re not even talking about imprisonment. Just the fine, like our DUI driver, being the money my client is owed for his loss and revocation of licensure, Commander Woods’ qualification to fly, suspended. It’s simply really. She should be held accountable and that accountability is up to you,” Bill returns his gaze to the judge, “That’ll be all, your Honor.”

The judge nods and gestures at Clarke, “Lieutenant Griffin.”

Clarke stands, professionally buttoning her dress blue jacket.

“Good morning, your Honor, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Clarke begins, “Commander Woods is first and foremost, a service member. She is a highly trained professional pilot with over 7,500 hours of experience and in addition to that, I’d like to make one key distinction. She is _paid_ to make difficult decisions. Now, unlike our drunken driver story Mr. McDonald has told… I don’t know about you, but I certainly don’t get paid to drink.”

Clarke’s comical line earns her a few chuckles from the jury.

“No one forced the drunk driver to drink, but Commander Woods was forced to make a decision because it’s her _job_ to make those decisions,” Clarke emphasizes, “which makes the plaintiff’s analogy… absurd.” Clarke continues, “I’d hate to be cliché but we really cannot compare apples to oranges.”

Clarke’s opening statement seemed to have gained the jury’s attention.

“Now, I’d like to go back and reference Mr. McDonald yesterday,” Clarke continues, “I believe he began with Commander Woods’ very first case loss at her first station, Air Station Kodiak, Alaska. A challenging environment, wouldn’t you agree?” Clarke eyes the fisherman in the jury, and he gives her a responsive nod.

“Working in Kodiak’s fishing industry, its base economy, ranks as one of the most dangerous occupations in the United States and something Mr. McDonald failed to mention, that Commander Woods saved 327 lives while in stationed in Kodiak.”

Clarke begins to reveal the details from Lexa’s stint in Kodiak. She didn’t need to glorify Lexa’s actions, they glorified themselves, and stood strong against Billy’s twist of story. Clarke was just giving the jury the entire story, speaking like a master narrator, all from memory.

Captivating stories from Kodiak take them into the lunch and the courtroom breaks.

“May I, offer to buy you lunch today?” Clarke asks as she and Lexa exit the District office.

Lexa looks at Clarke in a deciding silence, heels clicking on the grey swirled white marble floor as they walked alongside each other.

“For this morning, at least?” Clarke reasons.

Lips curling in a brief smile, Lexa nods a quiet, “Sure.”

They walk a couple blocks to a local coffee and sandwich shop, both ladies opting to sit outside in the sunlight.

Clarke takes a sip of her hot, fresh coffee. “Mmm,” she hums at the delectable flavor.

The local coffee is smooth, rich and exceptionally aromatic. Something about Seattle’s beans, or maybe it was just the nostalgia that came with the thought that _this_ was the city were Starbucks originated.

“I know,” Lexa quirks an eyebrow, “I don’t know what I’m going to do about my coffee after I leave this place,” hugging the mug with both hands and indulging in her own cup.

“Are you… particular about your coffee?” Clarke inquires, speculating that Lexa was a coffee connoisseur of sorts. She could see it, Lexa specific about where her coffee beans originated and how they journeyed to her cup – fair trade, Rainforest Alliance rated, sustainable, etc., Lexa probably even roasted her own.

Lexa’s eyes flicker with amusement, like she’s been in this conversation before, judged by others in a similar manner; that because of her vocation, the remainder of her lifestyle must be equally meticulous.

 Lexa’s answer is unexpected, “No, not at all.”

“Oh,” Clarke misjudged again.

“Just spoiled by living here,” Lexa lightly expands.

The word “spoil” triggers a thought in Clarke’s mind. The wrong kind of thought, and suffice it to say, it wasn’t even dirty. But the fact that _she_ wanted to spoil Lexa. Be the one to bring down the stars, give her the moon, whatever. Clarke wished desperately that they weren’t here in uniform, under these work related circumstances. She admitted to herself, wanting to take Lexa out on a _real_ date despite their situation.

Their food arrives and Clarke’s thoughts are interrupted and brought back to reality. Fucking reality.

“How are you holding up?” Clarke asks, dipping a fancied triple grilled cheese in a cup of steaming tomato soup.

Lexa chews briefly on her bite of hot pressed panini before speaking, “Alright, what about you?” she reflects back to Clarke, “You’re the one doing all the work.”

That might have been the first line of acknowledgement Clarke’s heard from Lexa and slightly enthralled it related to her.

“Oh it’s… I’m just doing my job,” Clarke replies modestly.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” Lexa says earnestly with a twinkle in her eye.

The compliment causes heat to rise up Clarke’s collar and Clarke actually attempts to duck behind her sandwich to hide it.

_What is Lexa doing to her?_

Thank god the waiter comes to top off their coffee, momentarily breaking their line of sight, and Clarke is able to gather some composure.

“Thanks,” Clarke manages to reply.

They continue eating in steady silence, a silence that Clarke had gradually become acquainted to, no longer maddened and beginning to find Lexa’s presence … comforting. Lexa had a type of calming effect, never in a rush, always collected. Even when Lexa woke from her nightmare, Clarke expected a more intense reaction. But the brunette just shook her head, answered softly and fell back asleep. Thought significantly less frustrated, Clarke was still stuck endeavoring to solve the puzzle before her. 

Just as they finished their meal, an older woman approaches their table.

“Oh hello ladies, I just wanted to say, thank you for your service!”

Clarke and Lexa smile at the woman, both replying, “Thank you.”

“I retired after 21 years in the Air Force,” the woman continues, “I’ve already taken care of the bill. Thank you again.”

“Oh, no- you didn’t have to…” Clarke trails, but the woman has already turned and left.

As kind as the gesture was, Clarke felt a little robbed- she was looking forward to paying for the meal. Nevertheless, Clarke lets it go, yet again, reminding herself of their circumstances.

∞

Reentering the courtroom, Clarke briefly scans her notes. Kodiak was just the beginning.

What Bill summarized in an hour, Clarke expanded into the remainder of the afternoon. Lexa swore Clarke memorized her entire career in detail, from her marks as a Cadet to her most recent performance evaluation. Reciting case after case filled with examples of Lexa’s sound decisions and strong judgement. Building Lexa’s character for the jury to see. And sure enough, Lexa was nothing less than a saint.

“Who’s saved a total of 1582 lives,” Clarke presents the final number, “Which means, at 29 deaths, Commander Woods statistically has a 98.2% success rate.”

Clarke turns to the jury, “Juror number nine, I have you listed as a tech worker for ArkTech Incorp. May I ask, what exactly you do?”

“Yes,” the woman replies, “I update systems for our client servers.”

 _Perfect_ , Clarke thought to herself. “And do you happen to know what your company’s success rate on the first update might be?”

“I’m sorry, no, I do not have that information.”

“That’s alright,” Clarke flips her notes, “As a publically traded company, ArkTech publishes their statistics and I have here that they claim an 86% success rate before going back to fix the bugs, then, only then do they reach… 98.1%.”

Clarke holds a long pause for the jury digest.

ArkTech was _the_ top software company in the world, recently edging out both Apple and Microsoft in the last quarter. It hit the news like no other and spanned for weeks. And yet, who had better statistics than ArkTech? Commander Lexa Woods.

Except Clarke doesn’t stop there, “Juror number two, I understand you’re a banker?”

“Yes,” juror two answers.

“Do you know what percent of cash is lost via transactions?”

The juror shrugs, “There’s no way for me to know that without doing some research myself.”

“Okay, well, consider it researched,” Clarke replies, “4.2% loss compared to my client at 1.8%. Interesting, isn’t it? An FDIC approved bank, audited system, trusted and used by millions of people every day, accepts a 4.2% loss. And yet, here we are, debating _negligence_ for this person who puts her life on the line daily?”

Clarke peaks back down at her notes, “Juror number three, you’re a professor.”

“Yes,” she replies.

“May I ask what?” Clarke says.

“Objection, your Honor,” Bill interrupts, and turns to Clarke, “Is this really necessary Miss Griffin? Are you seriously going to address every one of the jurors?”

“Yes, yes, I am,” Clarke replies, and she turns to the judge for permission to continue, “Your Honor?”

“Please continue, Miss Griffin.”

As such, Clarke continued to spout more statistics that spoke to each and every one of the juror’s occupations, driving her viewpoint home. It was impressive, stunning, like watching the creation of a masterpiece. Every word from Clarke, a brushstroke on canvas, painting the perfect picture that was guardian, savior, Commander Lexa Woods. Regal, untouchable, with a sword and red cape blowing in the wind, ready to save the world. 

-

Lexa crosses her legs, pushing back the sensation she felt slip as Clarke paraded the courtroom in unbeatable confidence. Lexa’s unsure if she’s ever been so aroused in such a public environment, and especially one so official in nature.

She watches as Clarke glances down at her watch, time nearing 1700. Clarke was about to deliver her last sentence of the day.

Leaning forward on the wooden handrail, Clarke speaks directly to jury, “Commander Woods is far from negligent, as you can now see. Her judgement- calculated, deliberate, perfect. Though the decision is yours…” Clarke pauses to look over at Lexa and they lock eyes, “I would give my life to her any day.”

Lexa clenches her jaw, she wanted Clarke _right now._ A fire ignites within, she’s sure Clarke saw it in her eyes, and all Lexa wanted to do was drag the blonde into the dark forest and ravish her. Mark her in the most primitive of ways. Fuck her in the most instinctive of ways.


	8. The Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost all smut, with some feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you've been waiting for the remainder of the evening, so here it is! 
> 
> Just letting you know, with my upcoming schedule, I won't be able to dedicate as much time to writing. So updates will be less frequent, for all my fics across the board. This is a lengthier chapter than most, savor it!

As they step into the hotel elevator together, Clarke thinks of dinner in attempt to reclaim her lost luncheon earlier today.

“Dinner?” Clarke lightly asks with papers and folders tucked under her left arm, doors dinging shut.

The elevator engages upward, and Lexa is silent, honestly resisting the urge to slam Clarke into the back of the elevator. From the events of the day and watching Clarke full in action, Lexa’s utterly impressed and incredibly turned on. She can’t wait- can’t wait past dinner and wanting the blonde under her as soon as possible.

“Lexa?” Clarke questions, raising an eyebrow with an expectant lean into the brunette’s space to gain her attention.

Instead of a verbal response, Lexa takes Clarke’s free hand in a leading grasp and just as the doors of the elevator open, pulls Clarke out with her. Clarke follows along briskly, smirk spreading across her face while she witnesses Lexa swiftly pull her key card out. 

Just as the door lightly thuds shut, they make eye contact and Jesus are Lexa’s eyes _pitch black_. Lustful, wanting, needing.

“I need you,” Lexa whispers at Clarke, backing the blonde against the wall, “right now,” and swoops in for a hungry kiss, leading with her tongue.

Lexa feels famished, pushing the blonde up against the wall and bringing Clarke’s mouth greedily to her own while reaching up to pull Clarke’s golden mane free, threading her fingers deep into Clarke’s hair to massage the back of Clarke’s head. It coaxes more out of the blonde and Clarke meets her with each demand. More tongue, more touch, more everything.

Clarke means to place her folders down on the desk, but misses. The small stack falls in a flop on the floor, as she runs her hands up Lexa’s uniform- over Lexa’s racing chest, esteemed ribbons, “Woods” name tag, and ends at the brunette’s jawline.

Lexa is beyond out of control, a total catastrophe as she quickly unbuttons her own jacket and carelessly lets it drop off her shoulders, then proceeds to push Clarke’s off in a heap to join the papers. Untucking Clarke’s shirt, Lexa _rips_ through the buttons like a hot knife through butter.

Clarke gasps in surprise. She didn’t think Lexa capable of ruining such cared for garments, recalling Lexa’s displeasure after losing her star.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Lexa pants with eyes blown wide in raw desire that fuels Clarke’s own.

“Don’t bother,” replies Clarke, immediately gripping and ripping Lexa’s in equal forte.

More pearl white buttons litter the grey carpet and Lexa growls at Clarke’s vitality. Lexa seizes her, grips Clarke close as their tongues reconnect with heavy moans and hot breaths.

Their remaining garments are lost in the heat, impediments becoming so irrelevant, forgotten and all that mattered was naked skin on skin as Lexa lands atop Clarke, fully pressing her body in, breasts and nipples graze while pelvises grind. Lexa shifts a knee between Clarke’s legs and presses out a deep moan from Clarke.

The continue kissing and grinding into each other until Lexa’s had enough, feeling a slick of warmth on her right thigh, she needs Clarke in her mouth. Lexa rakes fire on her way down with her teeth and drops her jaw to take Clarke in with full a kiss.

As soon as the taste of Clarke hits the tip of Lexa’s tongue, it infects her into a fever.

“Lexa! Oh my god!” cries Clarke, fisting Lexa’s thick tresses and squirming underneath.

Lexa can’t be stopped, can’t be slowed, fucking devouring Clarke like a starved vampire, tongue thrashing and sucking. Clarke barely lasts a few minutes.

“Lex! I’m com-”

Clarke’s body freezes and a rush of warm release hits Lexa’s tongue and she drinks it in.

Clarke’s first orgasm is quick but takes the edge off from the arousing tension of the day, probably more for Lexa than Clarke. Though Clarke is the one who came, Lexa is the one who needed it. Needed Clarke to erupt into her mouth.  

Initial fill satisfied like the first rain alleviating a desert drought, Lexa slows to breathe, but doesn’t stop, lapping slowly and more consciously, cleaning Clarke up.

She hears Clarke sigh in reprieve and swallow at the wane. Lexa proceeds to steadies the rhythm by flattening her tongue with gradual pressure.

“Mmmm….” Clarke moans, relaxing deeper into Lexa’s patterns, hips rolling with Lexa’s tongue in a unified pace. Usually, with previous casual encounters and even ex-lovers, Clarke’s had to scream out directions, “Don’t stop, faster, harder, slow down, etc.” But not with Lexa, who somehow seemed to know Clarke’s body better than herself.

Clarke isn’t sure how long it’s been, similar to their first night together, Lexa gradually pleasuring her perfectly. With her first orgasm behind her, she isn’t on the brink of coming again and doesn’t throb for release, not yet at least, but is sustained in total bliss. An amazing middle ground she isn’t sure how Lexa is maintaining and wondered if Lexa ever got tired. Apparently not, as Lexa quickens her tongue and Clarke’s body responds instantly, now she’s on edge.

Tightening her grip in Lexa’s hair, “Lex!”

Clarke is close to coming when she feels Lexa slide deep inside her with a targeted thrust that brings her to her second orgasm. Unlike the first, this one is _long,_ Lexa suspending her at the peak, stroke after stroke, drawing Clarke out for what seemed like minutes.

“Holy fuuucckkkkk…” Clarke groans, eyes hitting the back of her head and arching her back.

Clarke reaches, for anything, and Lexa’s free hand finds hers in the suspense, anchoring her and bringing her slowly back.

Feeling Lexa crawl back up her body, Clarke opens her eyes to meet Lexa’s, a different shade of green Clarke has trouble reading. It isn’t steeled like before, but not soft and pup-eyed either. Something else, more wandering thoughts from the woman of mystery. Forgoing her deciphering pursuit, she cups Lexa’s face and pulls her in with light kisses, slowly savoring herself off Lexa’s lips.

Drawn in, Clarke dips in her tongue and Lexa grants her access, opening her mouth for Clarke to freely explore. Naturally, she wraps her legs around Lexa’s waist, pressing her already worked and wet center directly into Lexa. It elicits a soft moan from Lexa. Wanting to hear more from the brunette, Clarke squeezes her legs in a hard grind that has Lexa pulling away from her lips.

“Mmmm… Clarke,” Lexa mouths while pressing into blonde’s slickness that now paints her lower abdomen.

Clarke's going to need more, soon. And Lexa begins to lean off.

The unexpected loss of contact has Clarke whining, fucking whining, the brunette’s name, “Lexxaaaa…”

Lexa returns with moment of intensity, a hot tongue and deep reassuring grind. “Don’t worry, just give me a second,” Lexa replies, reaching and sliding the drawer open.

It really only took Lexa seconds to affix the strap-on on and rather, impressive.

While watching Lexa tighten the last strap, positioned on her knees, Clarke feels an incredible urge. Sitting up with momentum, Clarke pushes on Lexa’s shoulders and knocks the brunette down on her back at the foot of the mattress.

The brunette goes down with a light, “Oomph,” and Clarke pounces to straddle her, running her hands up Lexa’s abs.

Lexa quirks a brow and lets a dirty smile escape as she witnesses Clarke’s enjoyment of her midsection; the blonde, licking and biting her lips with dark hooded eyes.

Reaching up, Lexa’s hands rest against Clarke’s ribs, thumbs brushing across Clarke’s own transabdominal section. The blonde’s belly smooth and soft, but strong and balanced. It has Lexa pondering Clarke’s workout regimen again. Clarke’s body, compact in muscle, stout even, but _so_ curvy, full, and lush; her breasts, her legs, her ass.

 _Fuck_ , Lexa thinks to herself as she squeezes the blonde’s perfectly rounded cheeks before dropping her right hand. She reaches between Clarke’s soaked center, gathering wetness and spreading it across the tip and down the shaft. While steading the shaft, Lexa raises her hips to meet Clarke’s entrance and watches in astonishment as Clarke sinks down and deep.

Clarke takes it all in, her full weight and ass resting flush on Lexa’s hips and Lexa’s eyes burn at the sight. The view is perfect from below, Clarke leaning back, arching with the swell of her breasts perfectly rounded. Exposed. Asking. Lexa’s hands drift up Clarke’s midsection, cupping the blonde’s breasts as Clarke begins to rock.

It’s unbelievably hot and Lexa can’t hold back her words, “Yeah, just like that. Ride me, Clarke,” she instructs.

Lexa’s thumbs and forefingers find nipples, pinching and rolling in the process of watching Clarke toss her head back, hands pressing harder onto Lexa’s stomach for momentum. Seeking more than an undulating motion, Clarke begins to raise her hips up and off, pumping herself back and forth.

Determined to give Clarke more, Lexa lets go of Clarke’s breasts and sits up at an angle. She wraps her right arm around Clarke’s waist and latches her mouth to a nipple, while planting her left down the on mattress for stability, fucking Clarke harder and faster.

“Oh, fuck yes! Fuck me Lexa!” Clarke cries in response, throwing her body forward and hugging onto Lexa’s shoulders.

Clarke is screaming, blaring into Lexa’s ear and Lexa’s sure she’d go temporarily deaf in her right.

Strings of profanity and biblical names mixed with Lexa’s echo throughout the room, so much so that Lexa swears her own name is written in the Bible. Lexa is sure Clarke called her a god at some point. In contrast, Lexa’s unsure if she’s ever been ridden this hard. _Jesus Christ_ is Clarke something else.

Lexa releases the blonde’s nipple from her mouth and yells, “Fuck, Clarke!” while pulling the blonde down with each drive up.

Entirely consumed with fucking Clarke, Lexa feels to urge to give the blonde more and makes the conscious decision. Lexa picks a spot below the blonde’s collar line, where neck and shoulder meet, and licks the area just before sinking her teeth in. Her bite is deep, breaking skin and Clarke cries out a moan of pain turn pleasure.

“Fuck Lex!”

It brings Clarke closer and Lexa knows it, feeling a taunt pull on her hips as Clarke’s walls grips the shaft. Lexa licks her left fingertips and reaches between them, easily finding Clarke’s wound bundle of nerves and instantaneously rewarded when she feels Clarke break against her.

Holding the blonde snug, Lexa pulls Clarke in for a prolonged thrust that has Clarke trembling in her arms and skin raise against her lips. Lexa wants the moment to last forever. Clarke on her lap, tucked snugly against her in everything that defined intelligence, bliss and beauty.

She didn’t know if it was going to work or not, but with the way Clarke moved with her, Lexa felt particularly confident.

“C’mon Clarke,” Lexa whispers huskily, “Stay with me…” and begins to roll her hips deep within the blonde, and somehow, makes Clarke come all over again.

“Le-!” Clarke cries with a strangulated moan, blunt nails digging firm into Lexa’s back.

“Just like that,” Lexa encourages, and the blonde lets out a long cry, almost sobbing as she squeezes the air out of Lexa like a balloon.

Finally, Lexa draws in a deep breath as Clarke’s clutch loosens, feeling the blonde’s hot breath slow against her neck and body wilt at its expense. Lexa’s hands wander up and down Clarke’s back, soothing before reaching up to sweep blonde strays from Clarke’s face. Lexa peppers light kisses around and down Clarke’s jawline, pressing her lips against damp skin and ending at her lips. Clarke is barely able to kiss back.

Patiently waiting, Lexa watches Clarke regain consciousness, the blonde still looking fairly dazed.

-

It takes nearly a full minute for Clarke’s glossy eyes to finally refocus. Lexa had fucked her past content and into senselessness. It wasn’t just the number of orgasms, but the intensity and the w _ay_ Lexa did it, timing Clarke impeccably and patiently drawing everything out.

Finally, Clarke registers Lexa’s hand on her face and sincere words, “Clarke, are you alright?”

 _God, how is Lexa this sweet?_ It has Clarke melting with full puppy eyes. Clarke can’t speak but shows Lexa with a brief nod and another kiss. She swipes the tip of her tongue against Lexa’s lips that easily part for her, free to roam and explore.

Tongues begin to glide languidly, and Clarke draws a sigh from Lexa, a soft and meaningful sigh that Clarke cherishes, handle like a prized gem so completely different from the hardened woman Clarke initially met.

Scooting and adjusting, Clarke leans off and immediately begins to remove the strap-on, now a barrier between them. She wants to touch Lexa. Feel Lexa. Taste Lexa.

Clarke slides her hand down between them and begins to massage Lexa’s wet folds, earning another sigh from the brunette. Reluctantly parting lips, Clarke nudges Lexa onto her back and Clarke traces her way down. She carefully kisses inner thighs before taking Lexa between her lips. Lexa hisses with a rise in her hips and Clarke rides her back down with her mouth, lapping Lexa’s arousal with slow focus on the hot bud that rested so delicately on her tongue.

“Clarke…” Lexa moans, tightening her grip in blonde’s mane.

Sucking slowly, Clarke induces more from the brunette, and Lexa’s hips begin to move with eagerness. Clarke intensifies her suck with added flickers from the tip of her tongue that has Lexa groaning and thighs pulling Clarke in for more.

Clarke easily slips in, fingers glide into Lexa and she curls them immediately at the soft, cushioned forewall that has Lexa’s gasping. Clarke’s strokes are long and hard, meticulously unraveling Lexa, fiber by fiber.

“Clarke… oh my god… Clarke!”

Lexa unfurls, like a line spliced completely open and spread in a fray.

The sight of Lexa is glorious as Clarke glances up, slowly releasing Lexa from her lips and suckling gently on Lexa’s inner thigh. Somehow, Lexa looking hotter each time them fucked and now, with Lexa resting on her back, open, and susceptible, Clarke feels compelled to give Lexa more.

Slowly, Clarke reaches for the strap-on, fastening it on herself.

“Clarke?” Lexa begins to sit up, cautious of Clarke putting on the strap-on again. Not that she didn’t enjoy it but didn’t like being so vulnerable- so exposed in their situation. Their week, the case, this arrangement, stamped with an expiration date. Though, it isn’t a game of dominance anymore, but Lexa’s timid to go any further with her heart.

But Clarke wraps her arm around Lexa’s waist and leans them back down reassuringly, “Will you let me? I want to make you feel…” Clarke pauses with eyes searching for the right words, “I want to make you feel, how you make me feel.”

Lexa’s eyes trace Clarke’s face, contemplating the consequence that they’re bound. Holding Clarke’s gaze, she isn’t alone. They’re in it together, facing a future laced with angst. Lexa’s not sure if it’s worth it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Clarke says, as if reading Lexa’s mind. “We’ll be fine,” she continues, that they’ll survive this, whatever _this_ is and move on. Clarke touches Lexa’s face to bring her attention still and looks Lexa deep in her emerald eyes, “Just be with me, now?”

Reaching up, Lexa cups Clarke’s face and leans up for a kiss. A breathtaking kiss Lexa gifts that speak volumes.

_Yes._

Clarke’s tongue finds entry into her mouth first, followed by touches that make Lexa’s skin rise, body ache, and soul blaze. Clarke’s tongue is seconded by a fulfilling sensation that presses deftly inside, causing Lexa’s hands to clasp down on Clarke above her, breath escaping.

Clarke starts slow, stays deep with small, undulating movements that has Lexa canting her hips for more. Then Clarke begins to glide in and out in full, tip to hilt, with flawless rhythm and thrust, rocking Lexa in a sea of pleasure. Clarke’s lips trace every inch of her neck, but never fails to return to lips. And Clarke’s hands roam with a certain tenderness, Lexa feels herself become plaint to Clarke’s touch; leaning into Clarke’s embrace and relaxing at her release.

Lexa’s breath grows ragged, skin sticky with sweat when she feels a hot tongue lash against one of her nipples. It makes her hips buckle and a new wave of arousal hits when the second nipple is taken with equal attention. Instinctively, Lexa’s throws her legs around Clarke’s waist, interlocking her ankles and urging Clarke deeper. Clarke gives it to her, speeding up and pressing Lexa deep into the mattress.

“Oh fuck!” Lexa cries, eyes slammed shut, “More Clarke, more!”

Releasing Lexa’s nipple from her mouth, Clarke wets the tip of her fingers before driving them down. Hand disappearing between, Clarke finds her prize and starts tracing even circles that match their cadence.

Lexa hears her own voice go up an octave with the added sensation. Each pass of Clarke’s fingertips and simultaneous thrust brings her closer and closer to the abyss. Until finally, Clarke touches the center of the Earth.

Lexa shatters.

Fully exposed and cracked open like a crystal vase, spilling _everywhere_. Lexa continues to quake against Clarke, riding her aftershocks in perfect succession. If it isn’t for Clarke holding her together, she’d be scattered in a million pieces.

Still shuddering, Lexa manages to look up at the comet that hit her. A stellar collision found in Clarke’s eyes, where stars are apparently born and for a split second, Lexa feels as if the sun itself is smiling down on her.

“Clarke…” Under Clarke’s stare, Lexa feels the need to shy away before she burst into flames, flying too close to the sun. “Stop looking at me like that…” Lexa says quietly.

Clarke breaks away in slight guilt, caught wandering into the forbidden forest. “Sorry,” she whispers through her smile.

Feeling Clarke slowly pull out, and roll off, Lexa is instantly struck by the amount of sweat on her skin and pool between her legs. Clarke’s warm body is no longer pressed against hers, replaced by cool air and evidence of her orgasm, threatening the sheets.

Lexa groans, “I need to shower.”

∞

Wrapping her arms around Clarke’s waist and lathering soapy circles around the blonde’s belly, Lexa kisses the droplets of water off Clarke’s shoulder and migrates across to the base of Clarke’s neck. Her lips pause slightly at the uneven feeling- she’s felt it before, kissed it before, but didn’t think it appropriate to ask. Evidence of a traumatic injury, Lexa’s sure.

“You can ask about,” Clarke offers to tell Lexa about her scar, “I don’t mind,” she says, looking unconcernedly over her shoulder.

“What happened?” Lexa mumbles into scar, not quite kissing, but outlining the feeling along her lips.

Clarke turns around in Lexa’s embrace, soapy, wet skin gliding against Lexa’s palms.

“My senior year at Harvard, undergrad. I was tripped while playing hockey. Unintentionally, but still, went headfirst into the boards and broke my neck.”

Lexa’s eyes grow in concern, “Broke your neck?”

Clarke nods, “The last two of my cervical vertebrae, C6 and C7. I was instantly paralyzed, thought I was forever. They operated, put it back together with pins and needles, which released the nerve that was almost crushed. And, here I am,” says Clarke, “Part robot,” with near careless shrug.

Unexpectedly, Lexa feels a protective churn in her stomach and leans in to kiss Clarke. It’s sweet, but also reassuring and makes Clarke feel… safe. An unfamiliar sensation she didn’t think she needed. Has never needed.

“I’m sorry,” Lexa mouths over Clarke’s lips.

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because…” She almost let it slip. _Because I don’t want anything to happen to you._ “Because that shouldn’t happen to anyone,” says Lexa.

“No, it shouldn’t,” Clarke replies and locks eyes with Lexa, “but sometimes, there are things you can’t control.”

Their eyes say it all to each other. What they couldn’t verbalize. _Like falling in love?_

Lexa has no retort, stuck in the moment that Clarke helps her move past by taking the soap from her hands. Clarke nods her chin softly for Lexa to turn around and proceeds to lather Lexa’s back.

They didn’t have to talk about it.

They can talk about something else.

 _Something else, something else._ Clarke’s neurons race for a different connection. Her eyes find it for her, visually tracing Lexa’s tattooed mural before her. It’s significantly more vibrant under the bright bathroom lighting and Clarke finds herself studying the detailed ink as she washes Lexa’s back.

“Tell me about this?” Clarke asks softly while palming over the colors.

Lexa dips her head in the shower head and streams of water play off her backside, rinsing the soap clean and clearing the image.  

Clarke waits patiently for Lexa’s answer, now understanding that Lexa customarily took longer than a few seconds to reply. She realizes it’s a personal question, but Lexa doesn’t show signs of hesitation either. Shoulders relaxed and casual, open for Clarke to ask.

“It’s a replica of my father’s,” Lexa says into the stream of water. She rinses her face before turning to meet Clarke in the eyes again.

“When he passed away, I had it done. His was completed in pieces though, symbolic of each unit he was stationed. Lighthouse, ship, and shore. Except the compass and helicopter. I got the compass the day after I graduated from the academy. And the chopper, added when I completed flight school,” Lexa concludes.

Clarke wants to ask more, particularly about when Lexa’s father died and her upbringing, things about Lexa than weren’t in a file. But, is satisfied with Lexa’s answer. Clarke nods her head, thankful for the information, though succinct.

∞

Climbing into bed naked from the shower with hot, dampened skin, Clarke lays atop Lexa’s back with the full weight of her breasts on Lexa’s shoulder blades. Clarke proceeds runs her hands up Lexa’s toned arms.

“Mm,” Lexa hums into the pillow, “that feels nice…”

“Yeah…?” Clarke whispers into Lexa’s ears, and interlocks her fingers, palms against the back of Lexa’s hands.

“Mm-hm…” Lexa replies, squeezing her fingers back at Clarke.

Lexa’s eyes drift close at the feeling, peacefully resting for a few minutes until she feels Clarke spread her legs to straddle the small of her back.

“What about this?” Clarke whispers with a hint of husk in her tone, and lightly grinds down onto Lexa’s ass.

“Mmmm…” Lexa moans and begins to shift under Clarke, rolling herself around to face the blonde with hands finding purchase on Clarke’s bare hips, “Don’t you even get tired?”

Clarke shrugs. She is tired, but there’s something about the brunette that keeps her awake. Keeps her roused. Keeps her wanting.

Leaning in, Clarke plants a soft kiss on Lexa’s lips before trailing down. She retraces, smooth, clean skin that smelled of fresh soap and Lexa herself. It’s wonderful and just as Clarke makes it down to Lexa’s stomach, drawing lines along Lexa’s abdominal grooves with her tongue, Clarke hears a very audible grumble.

“Hungry?” Clarke looks up at Lexa.

Lexa chuckles in slight embarrassment, and peers over at the clock. The time, 10:27 pm. They had been fooling around since they left the courthouse at 5 pm and fucked their way well past dinner.

“Yes, I am,” Lexa replies.

Clarke kisses Lexa’s stomach one last time before scooting back up, “Room service?”

Nodding in agreeance, Lexa reaches to offer Clarke the menu that rested on the night stand.

“No thanks, I already know what I want,” Clarke replies.

Evidently, Lexa also knew what she wanted as she replaces the menu with the phone in her hand. Dialing zero, Lexa gives Clarke an expectant look for Clarke’s order.

“Bacon cheeseburger with fries,” Clarke says with a guilty twinkle in her eye.

Lexa approves with a grin, listening to the phone ring.

“Good evening, room service please,” Lexa says.

While Lexa holds for room service, Clarke finds herself comfortably nuzzling into the crook of the brunette’s neck and tracing random circles around Lexa’s stomach with her fingertips, deceptively soft despite its rock-hard appearance. She’s not sure if anything has every felt so right but is interrupted when Lexa speaks with their order.

“Hi, yes, can I get two bacon cheeseburgers with fries? Extra bacon on one.”

Clarke’s ears perk, “Oh, extra bacon on mine too,” she says into Lexa’s opposite ear.

“Actually, extra bacon on both. Mm-hm.”

“Dessert?” Clarke overhears through the line.  

“Oh oh! Cheesecake,” Clarke taps Lexa eagerly.

Giving Clarke a nod of understanding, Lexa adds to their order, “And a slice of cheesecake please.” Lexa looks down at Clarke on her shoulder, “Wine?”

They were going through each other they had been together for years, sharing the decision in harmony.

“Red,” replies Clarke.

“What do you have for red?” Lexa asks over the phone, then turns to Clarke, “Merlot or cab?”

“Cab,” replies Clarke.

“And what do you have for cabs? Mm-hm,” Lexa’s attention on the phone, but begins to absentmindedly play with Clarke’s hair, “Anything nicer than that? The Duckhorn Decoy’s fine. Yes. Woods. Thank you.”

Hanging up the phone, Lexa turns to Clarke, “They said about 25 minutes,” says Lexa in a lazy mumble.

Clarke quirks an eyebrow, “25 minutes? I can work with that,” Clarke says playfully as she shifts on top of Lexa for another kiss, drawing a low hum from the brunette.

Clarke isn’t sure if it’s a pleasing or complaining hum, but she just keeps kissing. Dipping in her tongue, she feels anew and reenergized when Lexa reaches around to grip her ass and pulls her hips down.

∞

Quickly throwing the hotel robe over her body, Clarke looks back at Lexa, whom she’d left breathless on her back. Clarke licks her lips and wipes the corners of her mouth before answering the door.

“Room service. I have two cheeseburgers with extra bacon, a slice of cheesecake and Decoy cabernet?”

“Yes, thank you,” replies Clarke as she takes the tray.

Turning and walking back towards the bed, Lexa’s apparently gathered herself and put on a t-shirt. Though hair still damp and considerably ruffled in messy waves, Clarke smirks at the sight and wonders how many were lucky enough to see Lexa like this. So casual and unkempt.

Clarke places the tray in the middle of the bed and both women turn their attention to the food before them. They’re starving and practically inhale their burgers in silence. It doesn’t take long until just a few fries are left, and they start on the cheesecake.

“Do you still play?” Lexa asks as she tops off Clarke’s wine.

“Hm?” Clarke looks up while gnawing at the end of the fork from her first bite of cheesecake. She pulls the fork out of mouth and cuts in for second piece, but instead, holds the fork out for Lexa to take.

“Hockey,” Lexa clarifies, eyeing the bite of cheesecake, unamused, “Do you still play?” and leans forward to take the bite, allowing the blonde to feed her.

Clarke’s eyes glimmer with a certain mysterious pride, wondering if Lexa has ever let anybody feed her. Probably not since she was a toddler in her mother’s arms.

Clarke nods, forking another piece of cheesecake, “Yes, I do actually, but not competitively anymore. Just a couple of adult rec leagues, sometimes tournaments and I volunteer to coach Mites and PeeWees, when I can.”

“Mites and PeeWees?” Lexa furrows her brow at the unfamiliar terms.

“Just, little kids,” Clarke answers.

“Mm,” Lexa nods with an extra, “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

Lexa darts her eyes, almost shyly, “Your... stamina,” and says just behind her glass of wine, “not to mention… vice gripping thighs,” sipping.

Clarke laughs, “And what about you? Someone who eats a bacon cheeseburger and a pound of fries doesn’t just… look the way you do?” Encircling Lexa’s aura with her fork.

Lexa glances down as if she’s pushing away a blush, “I do a lot races.”

“Races? Like running?”

“Triathlons.”

“Well, that explains _your_ stamina,” Clarke eyes Lexa with a smile.

-

Stomachs comfortably full, the feeling entices sleep and Clarke fights her eyelids while kissing the flavor of cheesecake off Lexa’s lips. She’s managed to ply Lexa’s shirt off to retouch skin, Clarke’s naked body is folded across the side of the brunette and feels Lexa’s chest move in a light chuckle.

“You look like you’re about to pass out on my face,” Lexa jokes quietly.

Clarke guiltily grins, because Lexa’s right, but forces another kiss on the brunette’s lips that has begun to swell from the evening.

“You should rest Clarke,” Lexa coaxes, “I’m not sure what you have tomorrow, but you must be tired from today? Practically memorized my entire career, details I don’t even remember,” Lexa says honestly.

“Mm,” Clarke hums at the thought of tomorrow, “I just have a closing statement. The jury will have a decision by the end of the day.”

“Really, you think so?”

Clarke nods with confidence, “Yeah.” Though sure of the positive outcome, Clarke’s words hint with sorrow, “We’ll be done… tomorrow.”

Lexa blinks with a look of understanding and simple reverts back to, “Sleep, Clarke.”

Clarke shakes her head like a five-year old, pressing her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck in protest.

“Mmm, I don’t want sleep, Lex…” murmurs Clarke, wanting to stay awake longer to extend their time together.

“I know,” Lexa says quietly and kisses Clarke’s forehead while threading her right fingers through the blonde’s hair, freshly dried and softer than ever.

And in that second, Clarke falls asleep, a soft, rhythmic breath, rising and falling from the blonde.

Lexa reaches to her left to switch off the light, but continues to stave sleep herself, wanting to hold Clarke as long as possible. Fighting the inevitable and refusing to surrender to the following day, though it was considerably past midnight.

“Me too,” Lexa says with lips against Clarke’s hair, “Me too…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @clexicon for aiding me with some significant writing tips!


	9. The Last Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As @bdasswarrior put it - the smut before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! And we're back! Sorry, it's been a busy few weeks for me, but worry not! I intend to finish every single one of my fics. Here's the next bit.

Rain.

The sound of rain against the window causes Clarke’s eyes to open from a deep slumber. Her face is pressed against Lexa’s bare chest, just under her neck. Clarke’s entire body predominantly on the brunette with her right leg thrown over Lexa’s stomach and arm draped past her far shoulder.

“Hm…” Clarke lightly sighs at her awakening.

She tilts her head up at the clock, 6:17 am. As always, her body finally adjusting to the time change inopportunely on the day she’s scheduled to return home. 

It’s grey outside, overcast and rainy, rendering the room in a similar discolored glow of ambient lighting. Clarke shifts her gaze down at the woman beneath her and visually traces the features on Lexa’s face. Eyes, nose, lips to cheekbones and jawline. Prominent, yet delicate. Something about Lexa. Something entirely too perfect. A flawless balance of strength and beauty.

Clarke brushes the tips of her fingers over Lexa’s lips in admiration, not overthinking the moment before her. The brunette stirs, and Clarke pauses her fingertips, unwilling to wake the sleeping beauty. Her plan is ruined when a low rumble of thunder resonates in the distance and it causes Lexa’s eyes to blearily open.

Lexa’s sight immediately lands on Clarke and there; the corners of Lexa's mouth pull up in a smile.

“Mm,” Lexa adjusts her eyes to the woman before her, “Morning Clarke…” she says quietly, licking her lips and swallowing away the fresh parch in her throat.

Clarke returns Lexa’s greeting with a kiss, a light, sleepy morning press that makes them both bubble with delight. 

Clarke trails her lips softly and nuzzles her way into Lexa’s left ear, “Good morning Lexa,” she whispers and continues to kiss along the brunette’s jawline, moving her body further atop the brunette and wiggling her right thigh between Lexa’s legs.

“Mmmm…” Lexa indulges in the way Clarke feels against her, fits against her, and runs her hands up Clarke’s smooth and warm skin under the sheets, embracing Clarke in a full hug.

Clarke continues to pepper kisses down Lexa’s neck until Lexa unexpectedly rolls them around.

“Ah!” Clarke yelps and giggles Lexa’s name, “Lexa!”

Clarke can’t recall the last time she’s giggled for anything. Or giggled, for that matter. Clarke’s not the giggling type.

Lexa’s body resonates with light laughter and happiness, shifting herself on top of the blonde with a roused vitality and pressing her hips into the blonde’s core.

“Lex…” Clarke sighs.

Lexa doesn’t waste any time, constantly aware of time, but this morning, further attuned to the fourth dimension. She purposely bypasses Clarke’s neck and heads straight for the nipple, taking in the softened tip into her hot mouth and the other one in her right fingertips. Rolling.

Clarke exhales in pleasure as her eyes drift close. Somehow, Lexa getting better each time they fucked, which is saying a lot considering where they started.

“Mmm…” Clarke moans, fisting Lexa’s messy morning hair.

Lexa moves to sink down, but Clarke’s grip tightens, holding Lexa in place.

“No…” Clarke sighs, “stay up here, I want to see you.”

Letting go of Clarke’s now pebbled nipple in a light pop, Lexa kisses her way up Clarke’s chest, her neck and behind her ear.

“Okay,” Lexa says. “Whatever you want,” and proceeds to add, “baby.”

No, it isn’t a slip; Lexa makes the choice knowingly. To make Clarke hers and call her what she wills, even if it’s only for the next hour or so.

Clarke lets out a shuddering sigh at the name. As much as she disliked terms of endearment, especially in situations like this, a prolonged one night stand, it’s meaningful. To be called something with so much belonging. It’s also too much. All too much. Both receiving more than they’d bargained for but too far gone and time be damned if this is their last morning together.

Clarke’s hands come up to cup the side of Lexa’s face and she whispers back, “Make…” make love to me, she wants to say, but stops. Thinks. Clarke’s mind edges out her heart in a last-minute shift to, “make me yours.”

So, Lexa does.

She leans in to capture Clarke’s lips in a kiss while simultaneously lowering her right hand, delicately parting Clarke’s folds and caressing. Fingers dip to gather silk and warmth, drawing wet circles, around and around, and feeling Clarke’s clit gradually swell.

Clarke moans in her mouth and Lexa extends her tongue, pressing their mouths together and ignoring the bruise on her own lips.

Just as Lexa slips in, Clarke breaks their kiss from the sensation and gasps for air, curling fistfuls of Lexa’s hair that fall above her. Fall all around her.

Lexa’s strokes are deliberate, methodical, just right. Fingertips that find Clarke’s center of pleasure, effortlessly massaging. It becomes entirely too relaxing for Clarke.

Boneless.

Floating.

“God Lexa… how do you do that…” Clarke sighs as her body continues to melt under Lexa’s touch.

Lexa’s lips ghost over Clarke’s neck, tracing, and whispers against Clarke’s pulse point in response, “It’s not me,” kiss, “it’s you…”

Flattening her hand, Lexa presses her palm against Clarke’s clit as her fingers continue to stroke. Reaching around with her left hand, Lexa hooks Clarke’s right leg at the knee, anchoring it up and spreading Clarke further.

Clarke eagerly obliges with an added moan, and Christ the depth Lexa is able to reach is mind-blowing. The precision. The intensity. Stroke after stroke.

Clarke isn’t screaming, she can’t. She’s barely breathing with pleasured sighs and moans.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers with a soft nudge against Clarke’s face.

The call of her name renders Clarke to open her eyes and she watches a smile unfurl across Lexa’s lips. Clarke’s gaze shifts up and Lexa’s eyes gleam a different shade of green with a unique brightness despite the grey of the room, akin to the way sunlight penetrates through the thick of trees. Clarke doesn’t know if she’s ever orgasmed from the way someone’s looked at her, but so does under Lexa.

Clarke comes undone and Lexa holds her gaze with mesmerizing eyes. It tells her not to stop, to give Lexa every last ounce of herself in what feels like the longest orgasm of her life. Clarke arches her back and it’s still going, Lexa curling her fingers to milk more, Clarke’s body taunt in ecstasy.

“Relax,” she hears Lexa whisper but doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want this high to end. “Relax, baby,” she hears again and can’t deny Lexa’s words. Her command.

Taking a deep breath, Clarke lowers her back to a restful sink and that’s when Lexa strikes again. Adds a third finger into the slick with a final thrust that makes Clarke come all over again. Clarke can’t believe it; her eyes go wide in disbelief just before slamming them shut.

“Fuck Lex- fuck!” she cries.

Lexa rides her out, slowly, “Just like that…” holding onto Clarke, moving her entire body with Clarke and coaxing her down.

“Mmm…” Clarke hums as she relaxes.

Carefully downshifting, Lexa draws out a single finger, but still stroking with the remaining two, maintaining a calm and easy pleasure. A simple pleasure. A functional pleasure and Clarke can wearily open her eyes with Lexa still playing with the tail end of her orgasm.

Clarke smiles, and it makes her wonder if Lexa fucked all women like this. So, ruminate and meaningful. She wants to know. Am I like the others? Wants to know if she’s special. Must know.

She pulls Lexa down for a simple kiss before asking, “Do you um, do this with all the women you’re with?”

“What?” Lexa says softly, still slowly fucking Clarke, and pushes deep for a split second to tease Clarke, “This?” Lexa says with a playful quirk.

“Ah...” Clarke closes her eyes at the sudden spike of sensation and grips Lexa’s shoulder, but Lexa immediately withdraws and comfortably slows to a stop.

Clarke doesn’t know if she’s ever been so content. “Yes, that. This. All of it.”

Lexa slowly pulls out before she responds, “Depends.”

But of course, it depends. Not quite the answer Clarke is looking for.

“On what?” Clarke urges for details, looking up at Lexa and patiently waiting for a response.

Lexa smirks, “Like everything else, depends on the woman. Sometimes they ask me to stop. Sometimes they nudge my hand away.”

 _Nudge Lexa’s hand away?_ What a sin.

“And… sometimes, they let me keep going,” Lexa continues softly. “Whatever they want.”

Though Lexa says “they”, the last might have well been replaced by Clarke’s own name. Clarke lets her keep going. Whatever Clarke wants.

“Whatever they want, huh?”

Lexa smiles and presses a soft kiss on Clarke’s mouth, “Mm-hm.”

 _Such a charmer._ Smooth and confident.

“You really like women, don’t you?” Clarke murmurs.

“That… would be an understatement,” Lexa replies, and shifts her gaze from Clarke’s lips she just kissed to her blue eyes, “I love women Clarke- and you’re one hell of a woman.”

 _There_. It immediately sets to replay in Clarke’s mind. _I love women Clarke- and you’re one hell of a woman._ Clarke bottles it, mentally stows in a place that can never be forgotten.

That’s as much as Lexa will say. As far as Lexa will go. As far as they’ll get. But it’s enough to make Clarke smile. Wide. She doesn’t know when or how Lexa’s opinion of her meant so much. But it does, and her chest fills with pride and joy.

Now, it’s Clarke’s turn to roll them over, lighting hooking her left heel into the back of Lexa’s right thigh and rotating Lexa onto her back.

Lexa puts up no resistance.

The moment Clarke reaches down, she can feel the moisture on Lexa’s inner thighs. Lexa is wet. Wet for her.

“God, you’re so wet…” Clarke can’t help but verbalize.

“So, do something about it,” Lexa replies playfully, seductively.

Clarke slips right in. There’s no need to tease, no need to play.

The initial fill of Clarke’s fingers has Lexa arching her back, moaning with her eyes closed.

“Clarke…”

Clarke nuzzles into Lexa’s neck, kissing and lightly sucking, the smell of Lexa’s hair—a mix of shampoo and Lexa herself, overwhelming. It smells of morning and Clarke immerses herself in it, along with sinking her hand knuckle deep into Lexa, fucking.

Lexa is hot. So hot with body pliant to her touch and walls fluttering around her fingers. The epitome of beauty under her. Literally, at her fingertips, Clarke sighs and moans at the thought.

She continues stroking Lexa while actively committing to memory the way Lexa feels; Lexa’s legs around her waist, Lexa’s lips against hers in pleasured desperation, and Lexa’s inner grooves around her fingers.

Her free hand finds Lexa’s left, intertwining and pressing it over Lexa’s head. Clarke then drags her tongue over a stiffened peak, taking Lexa’s left nipple into her mouth.

Sucking.

Hard.

“Clarke!” Lexa hisses with a spiked pleasure.

Clarke begins to pump in-and-out, pressing hard against the cushioned forefront of Lexa’s walls, curling her fingers in precise movements and feeling Lexa tighten around her. She’s close.

This time, Clarke wants to watch, look into Lexa’s eyes as she comes like Lexa did her. Releasing Lexa’s nipple is a light pop, Clarke drifts back over Lexa’s face, nudging her cheek with the tip of her nose.

“Look at me Lexa,” Clarke asks.

With foreheads pressed, Lexa reveals her eyes, letting Clarke glimpse deep into the jungle. There’s so much there. So much in Lexa that all Clarke can do is kiss her in a flurry of desperation and disaster.

And just as she does, Clarke feels Lexa come. Clench and quiver under her and Clarke watches in astonishment. Lexa’s left hand still intertwined with hers, squeezing, and right hand, gripping the nape of Clarke’s neck and pulling her close. Holding her close.

Clarke extends Lexa’s orgasm as long as she can, deliberately stroking and milking her, though she feels it inadequate to what Lexa did to her. It’s the first time Clarke’s felt inadequate about anything. At all. Worried she’s not enough for Lexa. For this perfect specimen of a person. 

But, her doubts are erased when Lexa catches her breath and whispers, “You’re the only one Clarke… every time…” Lexa exhales in near exhaustion.

Lexa’s been with a fair share of women. A considerable share and more often than not, she doesn’t come. It’s somewhat common and she isn’t embarrassed by it, Lexa simply turns her attention to satisfy her partner.

Yet, for some reason, Clarke has been an exception. Has made her orgasm every time. And not just finish but in total catastrophe.

Getting lost in sex.

And in this moment, Lexa is lost in Clarke.

/

They’re giggling. Both giggling like school children while making out in the shower. They were sticky, sweaty, smelled of sex and eagerly ran into the shower together with lips connected.

Still connected.

“Fuck Lexa…” Clarke tilts her head back as Lexa trails kisses down her chest and between her breasts in the stream of hot water.

But they _really_ don’t have time for another round and Clarke has the pull Lexa back up.

“Lex, we really should get dressed,” Clarke says past Lexa’s kisses on her neck, fighting to open her eyelids heavy with seduction.

Lexa rolls her eyes, though they’re shut, and brings her lips back to Clarke’s and mouths, “Clarke, I really could care less about—”

Clarke interrupts Lexa with a kiss and forces Lexa’s eyes open to look at her. “Lexa,” she says with seriousness in her tone, almost scolding.

Lexa clenches her jaw in capitulation, Clarke’s right. Lexa nods, stopping, but places a small, sweet kiss on Clarke’s lips before parting.

They exit the shower, quickly drying themselves and ignoring the way over washed hotel towels feel on their superficial marks—bites and scratches.

Clarke begins to gather her clothes, piling pieces of her uniform onto the bed, but shoving her ripped under blouse in the trash.

“Here,” Lexa says, handing Clarke her folded sweats again.

“Thank you, Clarke,” replies, putting them on in haste and picking up her uniform in a mound. She eyes the pile of fallen folders on the floor by the door, about to kneel to gather them.

“I can get those,” replies Lexa, already partially clothed. “You should go, get dressed.”

“Okay, I’ll see you downstairs,” says Clarke in a hurry, opening the door.

“Wait, Clarke—”

Just as Clarke turns, Lexa smashes a kiss on the blonde’s lips, cupping just underneath Clarke’s jaw and pulling her in. 

Clarke smiles in delight, “Mmm,” and presses in harder just before parting.

“See you downstairs,” says Lexa, pupils slightly dilated and a little breathless.

Nodding, Clarke turns out the door.

/

Lexa’s already in the lobby when Clarke exits the elevator, buttoning the last button on her jacket.

Lexa; perfectly put together in less than ten minutes, with time to spare apparently, and holding two cups of coffee to-go in each hand and folders tucked under her armpit.

She hands Clarke her cup with an added smile.

“Cream and sugar, from what I recall,” Lexa says.

“Thank you,” Clarke says, smiling sheepishly at the thought that Lexa paid attention to her, especially how she took her coffee.

Fortunately, it’s stopped raining for their short walk to the courthouse, though the sky looks like it’s about to start again any second. They walk briskly, sipping coffee in steady silence.

Though not late, they’re the last to enter the courtroom, heads turn while they walk down the main aisle. They maintain a professional distance, there’s no tell. No suspicion. Not that it’s anyone’s business.

Except, Bill dips his glasses, following the two women curiously with his eyes. Clarke meets his stare without fear. A warning stare, deterring and threatening. If he uses Lexa’s sexuality against her, their sexuality against them—though Clarke’s quite sure most of the jury is fairly liberal, Clarke would rip him to pieces. She has more ammo she hasn’t used, flashes it before her eyes at Bill. It’s not just ammo, a tank that can destroy Bill’s case in totality. Clarke doesn’t particularly like demolishing someone entirely in public. It’s ruthless and cold, embarrassing for the person and emotionally scarring. She’s done it before.

Capable.

Very capable.

Clarke hopes she doesn’t need to this morning.

Court commences with the smack of the gavel. Bill is scheduled to begin the morning with remaining questions for Lexa. Though Clarke’s sure he has already lost, she’s unsure of Bill’s final tactic. He might lash out in desperation or put on a dramatic act.

“Good morning your Honor,” Bill opens. “And ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Yesterday, Miss Griffin spat out some very nice sounding statistics.” He pauses every now and then to adjust his wide tie, it’s dark red today, to go with his navy-blue suit and clean white shirt. Very patriotic colors Clarke observes. Less of a used car salesman and more politician, the American flag as cufflinks. Probably the nicest suit he owns and likely aids to bring Bill’s stature up to Clarke and Lexa’s dress blue uniforms. A worthy tactic, Clarke notes.

“Just because Commander Woods has some nice statistics going for her, I cannot stress more that it doesn’t negate the fact that she’s let people die. Innocent lives. Because they don’t mean anything to her, just numbers for her job. For promotion.”

“Objection your honor,” Clarke automatically blurts, disliking the direction Bill is going.

“Under what circumstance Miss Griffin?” The judge moves to clarify.

“Speculation,” Clarke tries to sell.

The judge weighs Clarke’s argument, it’s weak and Clarke knows it.

“I’m sorry Miss Griffin, but Mr. McDonald, you may continue.”

“Thank you, your Honor.” He clears his throat. “I can’t blame Commander Woods, she has an impressive file. But let’s take a closer look at the system she’s been trained. Four years at the academy—boot camp, broken down and rebuilt to their needs. Not to mention flight school. Robotic almost. It’s our own government’s way akin to brainwashing.”

“Seriously, objection your Honor. Relevance?” Clarke says.

“Overruled. I’m curious to hear out Mr. McDonald,” the judge replies.

Clarke clenches her jaw for split second. Only Lexa notices.

“Sure, you can view her training and decisions tactful, there’s no doubt about that. Because she’s a heartless soldier, brainwashed to play god and if she’s not held accountable for the government’s actions that who will?!” Bill points at Lexa on the stand as if berating her. “These losses are unacceptable!”

“Objection, badgering, your Honor!”

Bill clamors overtop Clarke’s objection, “She needs to be held accountable!”

“Objection sustained,” the judge hits her gavel a couple times. “If you can please Mr. McDonald,” the judge pleads his dramatics.

Bill calms, but continues to speak, “Commander Woods’ stats only reinforce the notion that she’s simply acting on relearned instinct and it cannot go without some form of retribution, and in the end,” he looks to the jury, “that decision is yours and I cannot emphasize that enough. You have a chance to impact history here. Commander Woods to be the first of many cases where innocent lives, our public, has been wronged by the government.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, Bill making an institutional based argument to reach the jury at a different angle. It’s predictable, and Clarke has clear machinations to win this case with a rebuttal for Bill’s every argument.

“I have nothing else, your Honor,” Bill closes.

The judge nods and looks at Clarke, “Miss Griffin.”

Clarke stands, tugging at the bottom of her jacket taut though with a relaxed posture. She has a certain poise to her presence, Lexa notices. The way Clarke affects the room—the jury, the audience, even the judge herself. Clarke’s confidence commands attention, Lexa can see it now. And it entices a multifaceted appreciation for the blonde.

“Heartless?” Clarke enunciates into the room. “Well… that’s a heartless thing to say,” Clarke jibes at Bill.

A few smirks emerge from the jury.

“Though I suppose, yesterday, I did paint a somewhat… rigid image of the Commander. Perfect numbers. Additionally, Mr. McDonald pointed out the need for accountability. Though, might I ask, aren’t there things intangible things in life that can serve as punishment enough? Say, the feeling for remorse?”

 “Objection your Honor, irrelevant,” Bill tries to argue just for the sake of interrupting Clarke’s flow.

“Sorry Mr. McDonald, overruled. Please continue Miss Griffin.”

“I’d like to state that Commander Woods is far from heartless, and a passionate caring individual. This trial itself has already been an unnecessary strain on the Commander’s demanding schedule, Commanding Officer at Station Port Angeles, as well as her personal dignity. Commander?”

Clarke looks at Lexa and their eyes lock, though Clarke doesn’t linger long. “Following up with the 29 deaths Mr. McDonald pointed out earlier this week, may I ask you to recite their names for me?”

It’s an odd question, albeit, Lexa didn’t anticipate. But the answer is, “Yes.” And starts from the beginning, “Jason Neilson… Edward Conroy… Michelle Sazon…”

Around the thirteenth name, Bill looks as if he’s going to boil over, steaming from the ears and shouts. “Objection your Honor, this is clearly rehearsed!”

“No, your Honor,” Clarke immediately replies. “You’re welcome to ask my client yourself.”

The judge turns to Lexa, “Commander Woods, need I remind you, you are on the stand and vowed to speak nothing but the truth. Were you instructed by your counsel to memorize all 29 names?”

“No, your Honor,” Lexa replies.

Clarke interjects, “Commander, then why do you happen to have all their names committed to memory?”

Lexa answers honestly, “Because I care. I cared about them all. And if I could go back and save them, I would.” Lexa shifts in her seat, uncomfortable with the notion that she’s naming the dead, but maintains the strength to do so. “Should I continue?”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Clarke answers, sparing Lexa from the remaining half and turns to the jury. “Commander Woods is human, very human and to hold her accountable for doing her job—a phenomenal job, nonetheless, is an insult. It’s simply poor happenstance that she is the subject of Mr. McQueen to file a negligence case against. And I trust you can see that. Thank you,” Clarke closes.

The judge looks to Bill, “Mr. McDonald, any remaining questions for Commander Woods?”

“Actually, your Honor,” Bill stands while still shuffling a few papers, obviously flustered by Clarke’s rebuttal and searching for more, “I’d like to request for a recess.” Clearly, Bill needed time to scramble and put something together.

“Very well,” the judge allows, and the room breaks for the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many are curious about the trial - verdict will come in the next chapter.


	10. The Verdict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special update for Koh Tao Appreciation Day! Thanks to everyone who donated and surpassing the $1000 goal!

“How did you know?” Lexa asks just as Clarke exits the stall with automatic toilet flushing behind her.

“Know what?” Clarke says, washing her hands and pulling a few paper towels. She’s speaking to Lexa through the mirror.

“That I… knew all their names,” Lexa says quietly.

“Sorry about that, by the way,” Clarke says, apologizing for putting Lexa on the stand in such a vulnerable way.

Lexa gives a subtle nod, acknowledging Clarke’s apology though still with an expectant look.

“I –” Clarke hesitates, turning her body to throw the paper towel wad in the far garbage and rephrases what she’s thinking, “I just took a chance.”

Lexa quirks an eyebrow, “Hell of chance, what if I didn’t know them?”

Clarke shakes her head, dismissive and steps forward, crowds Lexa just a bit against the bathroom sink. She places her hand over Lexa’s chest, toying lightly with Lexa’s name tag before tracing laterally across and touching Lexa’s golden aviator wings.

“Because…” Clarke says softly, “that’s not who you are.”

Blue eyes flicker up to meet Lexa’s and there’s a still silence. It’s charged with intimacy; deep understanding and appreciation. They lean into each other for a kiss. It’s closed mouth at first, but then Lexa feels Clarke’s lips part and sighs into her mouth. Lexa wants to cup her face and pull her close, drive her tongue in, but instead, she grips the edges of cold porcelain.

Good thing Lexa’s ready because the audible tap of stilettos echo from underneath the bathroom entrance and someone enters.

Clarke and Lexa part like caught teenagers, simultaneously flipping on adjacent sinks and rewashing their hands. The stranger doesn’t notice and heads straight for a stall while they guiltily smirk at each other through the mirror. 

Lexa holds the door open for Clarke as she exits; Clarke feels Lexa’s hand guide her out, a light brush on the small of her back.

The thought is uninvited. Clarke begins to wonder what it’d be like to be Lexa’s girlfriend. Discover how chivalrous Lexa really is. It’s 100% the wrong thought. _Girlfriend._ Clarke scolds herself. Now is definitely _not_ the time and Clarke reigns herself in as they renter the courtroom. She avoids looking in Lexa’s direction to shake the feeling. Unsteady as the end of the day approaches.

Everyone retakes their places, sitting while Bill remains standing.

“Mr. McDonald?” the judge opens. “Final questions?”

“Yes, I do in fact have a couple closing questions for the defendant.”

The judge nods.

“Commander Woods, I see that you’ve never been married. Might I ask if you’re currently in a relationship.”

“Son of a bitch,” Clarke curses under her breath followed by a very audible, “Objection, your Honor. Irrelevant.” And it’s quickly proceeded by, “Permission to approach your Honor?”

The judge nods again, and Clarke and Bill approach. It’s a whisper between the three and even Lexa, the closest person to the trifecta cannot discern the words. She can only see the judge’s pensive look, adjusting her glasses from time to time.

Then, the judge sighs, unhappy about something or a decision she’ll have to make and leans forward to make an announcement.

“At this time, I’d like to ask everybody to stand by. Thank you.”

The judge rises and only Clarke and Bill are allowed to follow into the judge’s private chambers.

It’s clear they’re debating something, Lexa can hear the spikes of Clarke’s voice along with Bill’s, but can’t make out any words. Some profanity, not much.

Lexa’s not sure if this is standard courtroom procedure. Regardless, it’s immensely uncomfortable as she sits on the side podium, waiting. Every now and then, she makes eye contact with one of the jurors, but they dart their eyes as if doing something wrong.

Twenty-five minutes pass when the door to the judge’s chambers clicks open.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announces the judge. “Apparently this matter is taking longer than anticipated, please break for an early lunch and return by noon.”

Some light chit-chatter erupts and everyone including Lexa is confused. She barely catches a glimpse of Clarke through the door when the judge retreats into the chamber. Clarke looks more annoyed than anything else, standing with arms crossed. Lexa hopes for a speck of eye contact, a tell, some sort of reassurance, but doesn’t get it.

With nearly an hour and a half for lunch, but without the blonde at her side, Lexa finds herself a little restless. They had spent every previous lunch together. After finishing a poor excuse for beef and broccoli served at the courtroom’s cafeteria hot line, Lexa isn’t quite at the point of twiddling her thumbs, but she is pacing. Waiting for Clarke. Lexa grows impatient, something inexplicable rare for her and decides to return to her room in an attempt to nap.

Okay, napping is not happening. Lexa lays down and all she can think about is blonde hair and blue eyes. On her. Under her. Besides her. Every which way. Frustrated in her peculiar state of blonde dependence, Lexa sits up to gather herself. She actually has to ask herself:

_What would I be doing if Clarke wasn’t here in the first place?_

Normally, she would be taking advantage of this time to pack.

So, Lexa begins to pack. She folds her clothing while meticulously layering her uniforms into a garment bag. Though she had requested a late check-out this morning, doesn’t need it.

Moving her car from the hotel to the courthouse parking lot, Lexa gets into her SUV; a sleek black 4Runner outfitted with an iconic mountainous Thule bike rack and cargo topper. Lexa snags a sweet spot at the front of the courthouse, vacated by someone just starting lunch and enters the building.

“Lexa.”

Her name echoes throughout the marbled lobby and down the main hallway. Lexa turns and sees Clarke, standing from the waiting area.

“Did you eat yet?” asks Clarke.

“I did…”

“Oh.”

The look of disappointment on Clarke’s face doesn’t escape Lexa, though it disappears in a split second.

_Was Clarke here, waiting for me? The entire time?_

It makes Lexa feel like an ass.

“I’m sorry – I didn’t know how long you were going to be… I – ”

“It’s okay,” Clarke cuts, she’s not angry, just… awkward. “I didn’t either.” And begins to move her hands a little aimlessly. “I – I don’t know what I was expecting. It’s – stupid…”

_Is Clarke stuttering?_

“Stupid of me. I’ll um – I’ll see you in the courtroom in a few,” Clarke says and pivots.

“Clarke, wait,” Lexa lightly places her hand on Clarke’s elbow.

Clarke turns and Lexa struggles to read her, “I… I don’t mind sitting with you.. while you eat?” Lexa suggests.

Clarke gives a wry smile and nods.

“Is beef supposed to look so purple?” Clarke comments as she strolls by the hot food line.

“I can’t recommend it,” Lexa admits. “I hoped it would taste better than it looked. Suffice it to say, my standard of judgment failed me. Must be that remaining 1.8%.”

Clarke cracks a delightful laugh, it comes deep from her chest as she bats an eye at Lexa. She takes Lexa’s comment into consideration and makes a beeline towards the prepackaged sandwiches in the refrigerated section.

They sit adjacent to one another with knees lightly brushing. Though they’re not flirting, just comfortable with the impassive touches.

“So…” Lexa’s not sure if she’s permitted to ask, but does so under their grown familiarity. “What were you discussing the judge’s chambers?” Lexa asks as she plays with the lid of her coffee cup, flicking the edges with her thumb.

“Oh,” Clarke gestures a nonchalant wave. She unwraps the plastic around her turkey provolone before responding, “Don’t worry about.”

_Okay._

Maybe it’s secret squirrel information that only lawyers and judges are privy to. Lexa may never find out. Nevertheless, Lexa is distracted when Clarke begins to eat. She has to stop herself from staring. Maybe because she’s just sitting, but Clarke is an adorable eater. Her cheeks are stuffed full like a chipmunk and a bit of mustard is caught on the corner of her mouth before Clarke wipes it away. The silence doesn’t bother Lexa, though she’s beginning to wonder if it bothers Clarke. It would most people. Then again, this is Clarke – unlike most.

Ever so often, they steal glances with polite smiles until Clarke nudges her foot against Lexa’s calf.

“What?” Lexa says quietly.

Clarke grins, “You know what.”

“I’m not a mind reader,” Lexa says, though she’s sure it's for holding Clarke’s gaze too long.

Clarke only quirks a brow and mutters under her mouthful, “Tell that to the Lexa I’ve been sleeping with.”

Lexa exhales an amused huff. Considering the nearing end of the trial, Lexa doesn’t want to push the sexual innuendos they’re dangerously flirting with. Lexa can’t recall the last time she was in such a predicament.

That’s a lie.

She can. Lexa’s been in a similar situation before and the memory forces her back into reality.

Lexa’s brooding silence must give her away because Clarke has learned to read Lexa like a book, a considerable feat in less than a week.

“Sorry…” Clarke apologizes  as she crumbles the plastic wrap into one hand, and shifts, “cookie?”

It’s one of those giant cookies with large chocolate chip chunks. Maybe even double chocolate chip.

Lexa nods an easy, “Sure,” and Clarke proceeds to break the cookie in half.

For some reason, Lexa feels the need to fill the silence with the dooming knowledge that she will be missing the sound of Clarke’s voice. It resonates with a certain husk and Lexa admits to herself, is highly fond of.

“Do you bake?” Lexa asks with the bite of her half. It’s a stupid question and Lexa knows it, but can’t gather to care. It’s less about the question and more about Clarke; her response, quirks, and gestures.

Lexa watches intently as Clarke slumps with heavy disappointment – as if Lexa had prodded about a deceased relative.

“ _God_ no,” Clarke responds in deep dramatics.

To see such an unexpected reaction from Clarke generates a warm smile on Lexa.

“You know,” Clarke continues with an obscene mouthful of cookie this time and Lexa resists the urge to buy Clarke a container of milk, “I use to pride myself on the ability to do anything. Childhood dream, be whatever and do whatever you want and shit-”

Lexa also likes how shrewd and raw Clarke can be, it’s refreshing.

“But cooking, _baking_ ,” Clarke’s eyes widen to emphasize, “I deserve to burn in hell with the things I’ve done to chicken breast. I’m not much of a believer in destiny or whatever deity you place faith in, but I _really_ am not meant to step foot in a kitchen.”

While smiling, Lexa breaks off another piece of her cookie, though Clarke is done with her half– engulfed in a few bites and managed to finish while talking.

“What about you?” Clarke mirrors. “Cook or bake?”

“Just here and there, a bit of both,” Lexa replies. It’s a severe downplay of her cooking abilities after hearing Clarke’s response. Lexa cooks for herself _every_ night. And not with canned or dehydrated boxed meals, _real_ meals with raw ingredients preferably from the local farmer’s market. Lexa even indulges in her own small herb garden.

And right now, Lexa wishes she can invite Clarke over for dinner. Set a table and light a candle, or two, or three (or a million). Reluctantly, Lexa reels in her straying thoughts and glances down at her watch. It’s time to head back to the courtroom.

“You ready?” Clarke says.  

“Yeah.”

They enter the courtroom and Lexa makes her way towards the witness stand when Clarke lightly brushes her forearm, “Oh, you don’t need to be up on the stand. You can take a seat back down here.”

“Oh,” Lexa replies. Unexpected, it’s something Clarke must have taken care of during their secret powwow. “Okay.”

“Good afternoon,” announces the judge, “I hope you all enjoyed your slightly extended lunch. Earlier, both counsels and I discussed a debatable issue, which I’ve deemed irrelevant to this case, and therefore to remain unmentioned in all fairness for the purpose of the jury’s decision. Mr. McDonald has no further questions for the defendant and Miss Griffin,” the judge looks at Clarke, “if you have nothing else, I would call for the jurors to begin their deliberation.”

Clarke stands, “Thank you, your Honor, I have nothing else.”

“Very well,” the judge answers and looks at the jury, “Jurors, I now instruct you to make your way into the deliberation room.”

The twelve jurors stand and shuffle sideways with feet avoiding chair legs into an adjacent room.

Lexa can’t image how long this is going to take, her only point of reference are television shows. She images it takes as long as it takes and wishes she was allowed to use her cellphone in the courtroom. But it’s turned off to avoid unlawful recoding. The waiting process is such a dead waste of time, she could be checking emails or reading a book despite the five-inch screen.

Looking to her right, Lexa wonders how Clarke manages to sit and wait like this. For a living, no less. It certainly takes a different kind of patience; the nerve-wracking kind Lexa hopes to maybe draw reassurance from Clarke in such close proximity.

Clarke must feel her, someway, somehow, because the blonde shifts lightly in her seat and leans in towards Lexa.  

“Don’t worry, they won’t be long,” Clarke whispers. And discreetly, very discreetly, reaches under the table to give Lexa’s hand a quick and confident squeeze.

Lexa would assume it’s easier said than done, but in less than thirty minutes, she hears the clunky twist of the doorknob and the jury files out.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you come to a decision?” the judge asks.

“Yes, your Honor,” the leading juror says, speaking for the whole. He holds up a piece of paper and reads it verbatim. “You Honor, the jury finds Lieutenant Commander Lexa Woods accused of negligence, not guilty.”

Lexa exhales in relief, though she didn’t have much doubt left. Next to her, Clarke begins to stack her folders, papers, and laptop, and shoves them in a black leathered messenger bag along with a couple of law references. For a split second, Lexa’s glad she never became a lawyer. It sounds appealing – powerful. A lawyer. But stares at the tabs on Clarke’s books, bound edges pushing failure, likely her original books from law school. The amount of work didn’t bother Lexa, but the dull waiting process. She can’t image the type of resolve it required in a more ambiguous case, those that result in a hung jury, case thrown out and have to start all over again. She doesn’t know how Clarke does it and regards the blonde.

Clarke shoulders the bag; it’s not large enough for everything and she hand carries a couple of books.

“Do you um – I can help you carry a few books?” Lexa can’t resist asking. It makes her feel adolescent, as if she’s back in high school, crushing on a girl and offering to carry her books.

“I got it, it’s fine,” Clarke gestures and they exit the courtroom. “And see,” Clarke winks, “didn’t I say you had nothing to worry about?”

The instant they step outside, still overcast with light rain evident from the wet concrete, Lexa hears a deep, booming voice behind her.

“That was bullshit back there and you know it!” shouts Devon McQueen, who had planted himself just outside the courthouse doors and waiting for Lexa to emerge. “What makes you the one to play god?! Always in charge! The Commander!”

McQueen’s words slice into Lexa like a thousand cuts from a sword. But, Lexa doesn’t argue back, she lets the insults fly.

“Fuck you, Commander! How dare you call yourself a guardian?! Commander of what?! More like the Commander of Death!” McQueen bellows at Lexa.

That one hurt. Lexa has been called many names over the years – variations of bitch mostly, arrogant bitch, cold-hearted bitch, or just plain fucking bitch. But, this is the first for “Commander of Death”. 

“Hey!” Clarke steps in. “You goddamn ungrateful son of a bitch!”

Lexa’s gaze roves to the blonde and witnesses the fury unfold in Clarke’s eyes, stopping the invisible sword by the blade and sending McQueen tumbling back with just a look.

“ _You_ should be the one held responsible for negligence,” Clarke’s voice grows cold. “Don’t you think I didn’t check your toxicology report, huh? Drunk and going out against a small-craft advisory warning? You fucking idiot. I know your type. Thousands of dollars in credit card debt, divorced, struggling with child support. That’s right, I know everything there is to know about you, _Mister_ McQueen. Going after the government in a leap of desperation, using your brother’s death as an excuse. I should have put you back on the stand and _buried_ you in there. You’re goddamn lucky I didn’t.”

This is the ammo Clarke had. What kept Bill silent. Clarke smearing the entire purpose of McQueen’s case, turning it back on him by opening his intentions and humiliating him in front of the jury.

McQueen’s face goes white like a ghost, bloodless and stunned as he looks down at Clarke in shock and fear.

Clarke holds her threatening gaze, which sends McQueen shying away further; his eyes coward down to the cement floor and can do nothing but walks away.

Turning back to Lexa, Clarke’s demeanor shifts immediately to care and nurture, like a mama bear defending her cubs.

“You alright?” Clarke asks.

Nodding, “Yes… you didn’t have to do that, but, thank you though,” Lexa says, completely capable of taking a few verbal insults.

“You always let people talk to you like that?”

Lexa gives the minutest shrug, Clarke probably wouldn’t have noticed at all had she not spent so much time with Lexa the past week.

“If it makes them feel better about their loss, then so be it,” Lexa replies.

Clarke has never been so wrong about a person. Lexa is _so_ caring -deeply caring of others and Clarke can now see the burden this brunette carries around with her. It is responsibility that closes Lexa off from others, not pride or arrogance. Clarke can’t imagine the type of strength it took to bear such an obligation, along with the willpower to not lash back when they blamed her, the internal forte of discipline and composure.

It raises Clarke’s admiration of Lexa to the brim, spills over and pools at her feet. Lexa is incredibly special and Clarke finds herself wishing for more time. Even just a couple of hours.

“When do you leave?” asks Clarke.

Lexa peers down at the ground for just a second, and Clarke recognizes disappointment in the Commander’s eyes synonymous with her own feelings.

Lexa looks up, “Now,” she says softly, “I’ve already been absent from my station for a week. I should be getting back. It would be… selfish, of me to stay.”

Clarke nods with a clearer understanding of who and what Lexa is; a resolute soldier with the upmost devotion to duty. Of course, Lexa would return to her station.

Reporter hype now settled, the silence lays heavy between the two women, thick like tar. Though neither verbally admit, feel it. Both women pride themselves on control. Specifically, self-control. Control of their emotions, control of their circumstances, control of their lives. It’s where their individual successes stemmed, and in this moment, a fearful downfall. Something more had developed over the course of the week, something uncontrollable that isn’t supposed to be, latches on like a bloodsucking leech.

Looking into each other’s eyes, they both _fear_. Fear of losing control in this pivotal moment.

It begins to rain, sizable droplets of water that you wouldn’t ignore and seek coverage. But, Clarke and Lexa disregard it in comparison to the internal pull between them. A feeling that weighs them down like a thousand-pound anchor. An anchor accidentally released into waters far too deep for the intended length, dragging the ship underwater.

They mutually recognize the need for it to be severed, line cut with an ax.

Bravely, Clarke takes the first swing by extending a hand, “It was…” Clarke pauses to choose her words precisely, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Lexa’s gaze drifts down, Clarke is strong, so strong, but her hand trembles. Lexa can’t let Clarke do it alone and reaches out to share the burden, relieving Clarke of the ax.

While Lexa’s hand is steady, her breath, not so much. She swallows thickly, “And you, as well,” Lexa says with shakiness in her voice that she’s not ashamed for Clarke to hear.

Lexa holds Clarke’s hand for just a moment too long. A moment meant for lovers.

“Goodbye, Clarke,” and Lexa follows with a cataclysmic second swing of the ax; she lets go of Clarke’s hand. She severs the line, lets the anchor sink, and their ship drifts away.

Clarke watches in silent disbelief as Lexa turns, walking away with what Clarke feels like is the essence that grounds her soul, the earth itself. Clarke almost chokes a cry. _Almost._ Thwarting the painful rushing heat in her eyes and rising knot in her throat, Clarke forces herself to walk away. The case is over, she’s successful. Yet feels overwhelmingly disappointed and at a complete loss. She quickens her pace, hopeful that the added distance would resolve the feeling.

Clarke makes it back to her hotel room in a blur. She’s bone chilled from the rain, though can hardly tell. Going into autopilot, Clarke begins to strip down her damp uniform with hair soaked. Numb and in search of a retreat, her body finds the shower, hot water rinsing off the cold rain.

To Clarke’s surprise, there are drops of tears trickling down her cheeks. It reaches the corners of mouth and pools at the seam. She can taste the salt. A lot of it. She can’t stop. They won’t stop. Her body begins to tremble, face scrunch, and lips quiver.

_What the hell?!_

She isn’t about to collapse and sob in a crumbled mess on the tub floor, but Clarke is fucking close. She slams her palm against the tile.

“Stop it,” Clarke wills herself. “Stop it.”

Meeting Lexa mirrored getting struck by lightning; it came fast and unpredictable, had flashed before Clarke’s eyes in an earth-shattering strike before disappearing. It jolted Clarke to her core and left in violent calamity. And all that currently remained is a blazing fire, rippling through an untouched rainforest. Clarke never saw it coming. She was on a break. Remember? Even worse, Clarke has had experience with a myriad of emotionless sexual encounters. Men and women. Her emotions never got the best of her. Not like this. Never like this.

Clarke fights. Fights hard to find herself with her forehead pressed against the cold tiles contrast to the nearly scalding water on her back. Finally, after a few agonizing minutes, Clarke scrounges the very last of her resolve and stops crying. She compartmentalizes her emotions and closes the door on the week.

As she turns off the water, Clarke thinks ahead; of work and the cases that sat on her desk in Washington, D.C. She flies out tonight at 8:05 pm.

After calming to a basic functionality, Clarke begins to pack. She gathers her work items first; files and papers she needs to bring back to shred. Moving onto her clothes, she comes across Lexa’s sweats. The ones she wore back to her room just this morning.

Clarke takes in a deep breath, she’s not going to cry again, but runs her hand over the chest of the sweater. The letters are stitched, and Clarke traces the raised threading. She’s not sure what to do with them, maybe leave them in the hotel room to be tossed away. She’s done it before with several ex-lovers, Clarke is not one for sentiments and in the past, has easily disposed of boxes of belongings away.

However, as Clarke pulls the sweater in a small hug and inhales her fresh memories of Lexa, she realizes she’s unwilling to part with them. Maybe she just needs to know it was real, however brief. The worn and washed cotton material, a memento that means something. Giving them one last look, Clarke folds them and deposits the articles in the corner of her suitcase.

/

After a few steps towards her car, Lexa looks over her shoulder and sees Clarke turn and walk away.

Clarke; intelligent, beautiful, and captivating. Lexa has never been so wrong about a person before. A morose feeling that matches the sky washes over and her chest tightens as if Clarke is walking away with the sun itself, the source of life on earth and Lexa is forever shadowed. For a split second, Lexa wants to shout Clarke’s name, run to her, anything to bring Clarke back as if she’d lost a someone from a thousand lifetimes, let alone a week.

_A mere week._

Conflicted, Lexa draws on the last of her rationale. _It was barely a fucking week for Christ sake_ , and wills herself back to reality. Lexa steps into her vehicle starts the engine and turns her attention to the two and half hour commute back to Port Angeles.

A wet droplet hits the back of Lexa’s left hand resting on her lap. It startles her. Lexa doesn’t realize she’s crying until the well of salt blurs her vision and exacerbates the rain on her windshield. Instinctively, Lexa wipes her eyes but it’s futile as moisture pools. The hot tears blind her and Lexa must pull over, slams on the brakes and shifts the 4Runner into park.

The outburst is completely uninvited. Lexa can’t recall the last time she’s cried like this. Thinking back to when she lost her father, even then, she only shed a few tears. Lexa can’t stop crying, and she begins to cough and choke with the added mucus. 

The song, _Total Eclipse of the Heart_ starts playing on the radio, or maybe it had been playing and Lexa just now notices.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lexa mumbles and slams the radio off.

But, the harder Lexa fights, more tears arrive until she surrenders. She leans forward and hunches over the steering wheel. Embarrassed and pained.

No, this isn’t supposed to be, Lexa reminds herself. It was a _simple_ arrangement. Something Lexa’s accomplished with countless others. No strings attached. Just sex. Basic human instinct. However, you want to label it.

Clarke appeared out of nowhere. Practically fell from the sky. And for the first time, in a long time, someone Lexa wants to be with. Except, a true relationship with Clarke is barred in Lexa’s book. The situation is tainted with a large red flag, bleeding and staining like a red garment you accidentally leave in the wash with a set of whites. Because Lexa’s absolute forbiddance, a long-distance relationship.

It’s the biggest lesson she’s learned life and Lexa would be damned if she let herself make the same mistake twice.

/

_“Marry me?” Lexa asked with a ring in hand._

_Costia smiled in love and happiness, lying in bed after Lexa had just made love to her that morning._

_“Lexa…” Costia’s tone turned, clearly flattered, but tinged with skepticism. “Bae, my life is in San Diego, I’m a talent agent. You know I just signed a huge deal with Paramount Pictures. There’s nothing for me here. Port Angeles?”_

_“Cos, we’ve been doing this long distance for over six months now and I love you.”_

_Lexa first met Costia when she was stationed in San Diego, together for almost three and a half years._

_Costia pursed her lips while taking the ring from Lexa’s fingertips. She plays with it. Deciding. “Lex… I can’t just quit my job.”_

_“I can take care of you… take care of us. You know I can,” replied Lexa, though she knew and loved Costia for her own independence._

_“Of course. And… so can I,” replied Costia. “Move back to San Diego? Be with me.”_

_Lexa bit her tongue; her girlfriend had just turned the table on her._

_“Cos, I can’t just-”_

_“Yes, you can, there are plenty more opportunities in San Diego for you, outside of the Coast Guard, versus I come to you here.” Costia sighed, “It’s a yes,” with a wry smirk, “but only if you leave the service.”_

_/_

Lexa has priorities and at the very top, the duty to serve. Finding strength at the core of who she is, a trained soldier before anything else, Lexa’s breathing returns to its rhythm.

Looking up, Lexa wipes her eyes, much more successfully this time. She thinks ahead of the requests that sat on her desk from a week’s absence. Maybe she’ll even go into work tonight and review everything through the weekend with a clean start on Monday. The thought brings Lexa a sense of normalcy and she shifts the vehicle back into drive.

Determined to leave it all behind, Lexa steps on the gas pedal, driving away from what shouldn’t have been and convincing herself, that it never was.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, Clexa endgame - though I died a little writing this chapter. Um, look forward to reunion sex?
> 
> On a separate side note, I have a lot of real-life stuff going on right now and probably won't be able to update for a few weeks. Special thanks to @bdasswarrior for support and thanks to everyone for reading!


	11. The Prospect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexa in a toolbelt, need I say more? 
> 
> Clexa won't be sleeping with anybody else.

Three months later

/

Lexa is driving to Indra and Susan’s—Indra insisted Lexa not spend her thirtieth birthday alone. The big 3-0, although Lexa’s sure she’d also get roped into helping with some of the house projects; Lexa is handy and Indra is in the middle of replacing carpet with floating hardwood floors.

Lexa has spent past birthdays various ways: cuddled solo on the couch with a blanket, a good book and warm mug; partying until sunrise and waking up in a stranger’s beds or a stranger in her bed; most memorably, when she was with Costia and mutual friends.

Growing up, Lexa’s mother died young and with her father frequently deployed, her closest relative was her cousin, Anya, older by five years. While Anya used to visit Lexa, their drunken sprawl in New Orleans being one of the most unforgettable, Anya eventually settled with her partner, Raven Reyes.

Currently, Anya and Raven reside on the outskirts of DC in the town of Arlington, VA. Anya is an enforcement officer with the EPA and Raven, an engineer for NASA. Quite literally, a rocket scientist. With wit equal to Anya’s, they’re a good fit. Gradually, Anya’s visits slimmed to none with the birth of their firstborn son four years ago. Aldrin Woods-Reyes, after famous astronaut, Buzz Aldrin. As ironic and comical as Raven found it, Anya forbade the name “Buzz Woods.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Rae?” Anya said she held their newborn in her arms, sweat dewed on her forehead from labor. “You want to name our child Buzz Woods? I fucking work for the EPA.”

Anya couldn’t care less about the heads turning at her profanity that echoed through the delivery room.

Raven laughed hysterically. “Oh, c’mon baby! That’s the best thing about it!”

“It’s an absolute no,” Anya deadpanned at her wife.

“Okay, then what about the last name. Aldrin?”

“So, Aldrin Woods-Reyes?” Anya was still not impressed.

“Yeah?! Wasn’t that the deal? I name this one and you get the next?”

“Yes,” Anya said. “That _and_ you’re carrying the next because I’m not doing this shit again.”

Al was born with light brown hair and deep blue eyes, though the donor Anya and Raven picked out had hazel.

Lexa absolutely adored her nephew. She frequently FaceTimed and sent gifts just because. She meant to make it out to DC more often, but as always, busied by work. This year was no different and Lexa felt lucky to even have the weekend off.

/

Hammering in the remainder of Indra’s new floor, Lexa holsters the rubber mallet on of her tool belt that sat low on her cargo work pants; well-seasoned Carhartt’s with paint, oil, and dotted glue stains, frayed at the heels and along the right thigh pocket where Lexa’s folding knife clipped in. 

“So, are you going out tonight Lexa? Hitting the big 3-0 at midnight,” says Indra, sweeping the floor as Lexa finishes.

“I’m not planning on going out tonight Indra, I signed up for a sprint-tri tomorrow morning.”

Lexa recalls the last time she was out downtown, several months ago at the club—when Clarke was here. Her heart tugs uncomfortably at the thought, frankly, because she misses Clarke.

Following through with their agreement, Lexa didn’t call, text, or otherwise try to reach out. She hasn’t heard from Clarke either, suspecting the same. Unwilling to admit aloud, Lexa hasn’t slept with anyone since Clarke’s departure. Lack of interest.

“Susan and I are buying.”

“I’m a big girl now, I can buy my own drinks Indra,” says Lexa sarcastically, finishing the last of the IPA that she had brought to Indra’s. “At least I’m here.”

“Yes, and thank you, again.”

While Indra only asked her to help finish the floors, Lexa went ahead helping with several remaining unfinished projects including a bathroom remodel and fixing up the bare basement to AirBNB.

“Alright, break-time cause I gotta pee,” says Lexa, unbuckling her tool belt and dropping it aside.

Walking down the hallway, Lexa automatically looks at the pictures displayed along the walls. Though she’d seen them at least a hundred times over the years, always stopped to reflect. The walls go chronologically, starting with some early pictures of Indra in uniform from the 90’s to when she met Susan and fast-forwarding to their trips and travels—Indra and Susan standing in front of the Eiffel Tower, Kilimanjaro summit, kayaking in the Fjords, scattered with less iconic locations and snapshots of their daily lives, pets, friends, and family including a few of Lexa herself when she was younger.

Lexa’s happy for Indra and Susan but can’t help to wonder when she’ll have a wall like this of her own. Lexa didn’t anticipate still being so single with less than twelve hours to go until her thirtieth. But, looking at Indra and Susan’s story gives her hope. They didn’t meet until their mid 40’s, except Indra’s story is unique and Lexa starts to feel…doubtful.

“Indra, you know those bathroom electrical outlets need to be GFCI right?” Lexa says as she exits the bathroom.

“Okay, I’m not even going to pretend to know what that means,” says Indra with feet kicked up on the couch and nursing her own beer.

“It’s the outlet that comes with a reset button, in case it comes in contact with water. And you want to AirBNB the downstairs?” Lexa says skeptically.

“Yes…” Indra replies, thwarting Lexa’s skepticism.

“Okay, well, I can change out the bathroom outlets for you but you’re going to need to hire a real electrician for the medusa of wires downstairs. Honestly, I don’t even know how this place hasn’t gone up in flames,” says Lexa. “And I hope that will is in a burn box and doesn’t have my name on it, because I don’t want to inherit this mess.”

Indra laughs at this side of Lexa, a little ruthless but in a lighthearted way. Indra is fully aware of Lexa’s façade she hides so well behind. Not many people see _this_ Lexa: sarcastic, easy-going, talkative even. Costia had brought it out of Lexa the most, which is why Indra asks about her every time. But, after their hard break up, Lexa went back under her shell, closing the world off and only peering out every so often. 

“Speaking of inheritance, have you spoken to Gaia lately?”

This is where Indra’s unique story stems.

Gaia is Indra’s estranged daughter from her first marriage. Indra was married to a man previously when she had Gaia. And well, coming out goes both ways when Indra came out to her husband and daughter, it led to divorce. Gaia, 14 at the time, didn’t take the divorce well, subsequently blaming her mother and they’ve barely spoken since.

Lexa knows she’s the daughter Indra never had and while Lexa has never seen Indra’s will, would not be surprised if her name really was on it for the house.

“A few weeks ago, brief, but yes,” says Indra.

“How is she?”

“I don’t know, young. Changing her major again to who knows what for the umpteenth time.”

“You’re too hard on your own daughter, we were all young once. Or have you forgotten?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten, and I’d say she’s too hard on me. Still angry at me after all these years. I invite her over every Christmas and every Christmas, it’s a no. That girl is driven with a mind of her own, always has.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of the door as Susan enters with their two dogs, Daisy and Cheerios. Cheerios is a seven-year-old golden retriever and Daisy, a pit-bull, husky, something mix Susan and Indra rescued two years ago. Lexa loves them. Lexa loves all animals—dogs, cats, bunnies, you name it, but never has the time to dedicate to a pet.

Lexa kneels down to greet the dogs from their walk, “Hey! There are my girls!” Lexa shouts, hugging and petting both the dogs as if she didn’t see them an hour ago, kissing and nuzzling her face into their fur.

“How was the walk?” says Indra.

“Pretty nice. A lot nicer out than it looks,” says Susan, shedding her raincoat. “Oh wow, you’re really plowing through the floor, the living room looks great.”

The old, stained beige carpet has been replaced by sleek, dark, hardwood floors.

“Thank Lexa,” replies Indra, pointing at Lexa who is now rolling and wrestling with the two dogs on the floor.

Susan turns to Lexa, “Thanks, Lexa.”

“Yep,” Lexa says, still petting the dogs and now talking to them. “Oh yes, now that I’m all done with the floors, I promise to take you two on a big, long run. Yes, I do.”

“So, we going out tonight?” asks Susan.

Indra nods in the direct of Lexa, “Yet another question for that one.”

“I was just telling Indra, I’m good for tonight,” Lexa responds.

“Seriously Lexa, you’re going to spend your 30th alone?”

“I’m not alone, I’m with you gals. Plus, I’m guaranteed to wake up with two beautiful girls in my bed,” says Lexa, making kissing noises at the dogs that had spent the night before at Lexa’s side.

“The dogs don’t count,” replies Indra.

Lexa feigns a look of offense, “Shhh! Indra!” covering the dog's ears. “They’ll hear you.”

Indra lets out a cackle, “Suit yourself.”

Lexa gets up from the floor and refastens her tool belt, “I’m happy as long as I get my chocolate peanut butter birthday pie.”

Lexa has an obsession with peanut butter, eating it on toast or bagel every morning and random spoonsful throughout the day. Lexa goes through about a jar a week and Susan makes a hell of a chocolate peanut butter pie.

At that moment, Lexa’s cell phone rings and she reaches into her pocket.

 “Hello? Yes, this is Commander Woods,” answers Lexa, turning and wandering into the kitchen, “Yes. I see.”

With the way Lexa answers, the call is work-related. Indra wonders if something has happened and Lexa is due back at the station. But, there’s a long pause on the other end with lots of words.

“I understand,” replies Lexa, “Thank you.”

Hanging up, Indra has an expectant look on her face.

“Well?” Indra presses Lexa as she wanders back into the open living room.

“I—I was just offered an open position at the Pentagon. Something happened, and they need somebody right away and my name came up.” Lexa says with slight bewilderment. “I have ‘til Friday to decide.”

The news is bittersweet.

A job at the Pentagon also means that Lexa will no longer be flying. Out of the limelight and into the veiled realm of governance. Her purpose changed to congressional meetings and political affairs. No more daring rescues in the middle of the night and the satisfaction that comes with seeing faces of those saved. Contrary, Lexa will be able to see Anya, Raven, and Aldrin. And, one more prospect: Clarke.

“Well, are you going to take it?” Indra advances the conversation.

“I um—I don’t know,” replies Lexa, rarely caught in such indecisiveness.

“What do you mean you don’t know Lexa?” Indra says judgmentally. “If they’re specifically asking for you, you should take this opportunity to go. Think of what you can accomplish at that level. Meet international ambassadors and work on alliances.”

Lexa nods, Indra is right. Still mentoring her after all these years ago.

“I’m going to at least sleep on it,” Lexa says.

Unsurprisingly, Lexa dreams of Clarke that night. Clarke is sleeping fireside on a forest floor.

“Clarke?” Lexa wants to reach out and touch her. But her limbs remain unmoving. “Clarke?”

Finally, Clarke sits up from the ground and looks at Lexa.

“Clarke.” Lexa smiles.

The blonde says nothing but gets up and starts to walk away.

“Clarke wait!”

It’s blurry now, Lexa is chasing Clarke through the woods. Clarke is ever escaping her. Just when Clarke seems like she’s in reach, majestically advances forward again.

“Clarke! Where are you going?”

Lexa trips, falls, and she wakes to the feeling weightlessness—like at the peak of a swing.

“Dammit,” Lexa sighs, rubbing her face.

Clarke frequents her dreams; a never-ending presence and Lexa feels haunted. Reaching to her left, Lexa pets Cheerios snuggled between her and the wall while trying not to kick Daisy, nestled in behind her knees. Petting the golden retriever’s fur intensifies Lexa’s thoughts about the blonde, thinking about threading her fingers through Clarke’s golden locks again.

Lexa begins to weight her pros and cons, though she’d miss flying, taking the job in DC will do her career well. Separating her feelings from duty—even if Clarke isn’t there, she would still go. It’s decided.

//

Clarke is home alone, pouring herself a generous serving of Chardonnay on this Saturday night. She has never been so strung on a person before. Missing Lexa even now, at three months later, which is embarrassingly needy and desperate. Especially for Clarke. It’s the worst non-breakup, breakup she’s ever had.

Her orange tabby cat jumps up onto the coffee table and Clarke strokes his back.

“Hey Theo,” she says, scratching behind his ear.

Clarke didn’t even want Theodore. He belonged to her ex—two exes ago. She was a crazy bitch whom one day, packed up all her stuff and left. Except for the cat.

Clarke left message after message. “Hey Jill, it’s Clarke again. I’m not sure if you’re coming back for your cat or not, either’s fine with me. Just let me know.”

Jill called back and told Clarke to stop calling and “harassing” her, hence the crazy bitch part. And, actually told Clarke she was going to initiate a restraining order if she didn’t stop calling.

“Jill, you’re a fucking crazy bitch. Restraining order? I’m a goddam lawyer, remember? Good luck with that—and I’m calling about _your_ fucking cat. Fine. Fine. I’ll stop calling. Whatever, bye.”

That was the end of it and Clarke never looked back. Except now, she’s stuck with the Theo—he’s grown on her since. But still. Theo isn’t the friendliest cat, expressly strangers and he makes it difficult for her to bring people home. Once, Theo leaped off the top of the refrigerator and bit a guy on the shoulder. And another time, chased and scratched at a girl’s ankle until she left. Clarke swears it was Jill’s way of “getting back at her” although Clarke’s not sure what she did. Something Jill had dreamt or imagined, Clarke’s sure. But Clarke doesn’t have the heart to take him to a shelter.

“I’d blame you for not being able to bring someone home for the past three months,” she continues to talk to Theo. “But we both know that’s not the case. God, what the fuck am I doing?”

Frustrated in her pitiful state, Clarke gulps down the glass of wine and calls for a Lyft—sick of sulking at home. She needs a distraction, needs to fill the void, needs to go get laid.

“Hey, I’m Nick. Can I get you a drink?”

It’s that easy for Clarke. Particularly at straight bars with a little bit of extra cleavage.

“Sure,” Clarke says. He has dark features, a bit of the five o’clock shadow. Passable is what Clarke is looking for. And Nick is passable.

Two more drinks in and Clarke learns that Nick is also a lawyer—in DC, everybody is a lawyer and there’s nothing impressive about it.

“Don’t you want to know what I lobby for?” Nick asks. He’s a proud one.

“No,” Clarke says, almost rolling her eyes. She needs him to shut up, make a move because she’s already lingered too long on him.

“Oh, well, what do you do? Clarke?”

Clarke puts down her empty glass. “Look, Nick. Do you want to get out of here? Or not?”

 “Oh… um, wow… yeah, sure. Sure. Another bar or…?”

“Your place,” Clarke says in a matter-of-factly tone.

/

Nick is wrong.

Everything about him feels wrong. From the extra stubble on his face to the grip in his hands—they’re too tentative. Clarke tries to replace him with images of Lexa, but it’s not working and causing herself too much work. Like she needs to be sober to concentrate. She just wants to be mindlessly fucked. To not think.

She wants the way Lexa fucked her. Assertive—with purpose, with passion, with… _love._

He struggles with unclasping her bra and that’s when Clarke loses her patience.

“Ugh, just…” Clarke gets off his lap. “Sorry, Nick.” And rolls her shirt back down.

“Wait, what?”

She feels bad, there’s clearly a bulge in his pants, but not that bad; she’s leaving.

“Sorry, I made a mistake. This isn’t what I want.” Clarke loops her fingers through her heels on the floor.

Clarke can be such a bitch and she knows it. She throws a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “For the drinks. Thanks.” And is out the door.

When the Lyft drops her off at home, she’s no better off than she was hours ago, except with a stronger buzz and smells like cologne. Clarke jumps in the shower, rinsing off the dumb evening and climbs into bed naked.

Images of Lexa flood her mind, usually, she pushes them away, but tonight—tired and slightly inebriated, she lets them come.

Lexa—kissing her, around her neck and down her chest. Deft hands tracing her body.

Clarke takes her own nipples between her fingers, rolls them wishing it was Lexa instead. Lexa’s fingers, Lexa’s _mouth_. Everything Lexa. Clarke replays the moments they had together in Seattle, mixes them together and imagines other positions they could be fucking in. Sixty-nine. Scissoring. Just, fucking fucking.

Clarke brings her hand to mouth, licking her fingers before driving them down between her legs. She spreads herself wide—as if she were Lexa, circles her clit with intent.

It feels good, though not nearly enough. Her own fingers have hardly been enough since Lexa touched her. Clarke partly rolls over and reaches for her drawer. She pulls out her vibrator thinking about the things Lexa could be doing to her.

Slowly, Clarke aligns the tip and presses the vibrator into herself.

She moans, picturing Lexa above her and imagining Lexa’s weight on her. She wants to be looking into green eyes that glow bright in the darkness. Clarke licks and bites her lips, recalling the way Lexa’s lips felt on hers. Ghosted over her, tracing, kissing and mumbling.

Lexa’s whispering words.

“Fuck Clarke.”

Clarke thrusts harder into herself.

“Just like that Clarke.”

Rubs her clit with her free hand.

“Come for me, Clarke.”

Clarke screams with Lexa’s name tripping out of her lips. “Lexa!”


	12. The Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After spending several months apart, Clarke and Lexa reunite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Managed to make this update happen before I leave for vacation. Thanks to @clexa_fandom_shipper47, I'm taking my Clexa Pop Funkos with, so be on the lookout for some Clexa Funko photo ops on my tumblr! Alas, the reunion.
> 
> Side note on last night's 100 episode: Did anybody else FUCKING DIE when Madi was pouring out Mt. Weather/Lexa regret feelings/confessions to Clarke and regurgitating EVERYTHING CLEXA in like two minutes?!?!

_-Two months later-_

Congressional work is no joke. Since her move to D.C., Lexa has barely enough time to pee, averaging 18-hour work days between Joint Base, the Pentagon, and White House. Despite her office, she functions mostly through her phone and laptop from the constant travel. The five countries Lexa’s visited in preparation for the United Nation’s Summit in London has left her internal clock crossed between jet-lag and real time.

The moving boxes at home remain unpacked except for the essentials and Lexa’s mattress sits on the bare floor, the frame of her bed still awaiting assembly. One of these weekends, Lexa swears to get her place together. But the need for sleep has triumphed over her sparse free weekends.

“Commander?”

Lexa stands from her desk, “Admiral.”

“Do we have the final legal clearing for my speech at the summit?” the admiral asks.

“No, sir, I haven’t heard back yet, but I’ll follow up with it.”

“Thank you.”

Lexa can’t wait until this international summit is over so she can _sleep._ She picks up her phone, dialing the office to track down the admiral’s speech. They must be as busy as she is because no one answers. Sometimes, it just takes a friendly—or not—face. Last week, Lexa had to scold her way through medical for a simple vaccination update—there was a measles scare in the European Union and her plane was leaving the following day.  

Making her way across base, Lexa treks her way to legal. In the two months, she has yet to run into Clarke. There’s a substantial group of lawyers and who is assigned what is a mystery to Lexa. And considering Clarke traveled for her case, Lexa assumes that Clarke is likely on travel assignment around the nation handling a multitude of military cases. Plus, Lexa’s been entirely too busy to be tracking down her crush (ahem, soulmate) while at work. It’s ridiculous and completely unprofessional. She works alongside admirals and generals, not to mention senators and congressional representatives. This is not the time and definitely not the place.

Just as Lexa turns a blind corner, she runs directly into the unforgettable blonde, knocking foreheads.

“Ow, son of a bitch!” the blonde yells, gripping her forehead as her stack of papers fly.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Lexa instinctively replies, looking up, “Clarke?”

Clarke's eyes grow wide with the look of pure shock. “Lexa?!”

It happens fast and in a blink of an eye, they’re back in Seattle. Images of their shared memories surface; the courtroom, the dinners, the club, the hotel room. _God_ the hotel room—clothes scattered about, sheets twisted in disarray, and uniforms disassembled.

Uniforms.

Lexa is the first to snap out of it when she notices a significant change on Clarke’s uniform. Clarke is sporting an extra quarter inch stripe on her shoulder boards.

“When… did you make Lieutenant Commander, Clarke?” 

“Uh—last month. Early promotion,” says Clarke with a wry smile.

Early promotion is rare, extremely rare, but in Clarke’s case, Lexa supposes she wouldn’t have expected less. Lexa knows she had judged Clarke wrong that very first day and Clarke’s expertise, diligence and work ethic has clearly been recognized.

“Congratulations, I suppose I should also call you Commander now?”

“Please, we’re the same rank, call me Clarke,” the blonde quips, darting a smile that makes Lexa feel all kinds of warm inside. So warm, she’s thankful for the height of her full-dress uniform collar as a noticeable heat from her blood vessels rises up her neck.

 “Uh—” Lexa leans down at the dropped papers. “I’m so sorry.” And begins to gather them.

“It’s alright,” Clarke manages to say, also kneeling while stealing glances at Lexa, “Um—what are you doing here? Do you work here? Now?”

“I—um, got here about two months ago, actually,” Lexa says.

Clarke responds with a quick furrow of her brow and flashes a look that can only be construed as hurt. “Did you say, two months?”

“Yes—I’ve been incredibly busy,” Lexa replies and stacks the papers neatly.  

“Oh…”

“Here,” Lexa hands the stack back to Clarke. “Sorry.”

The sorry is laced with a personal apology, Lexa only hopes Clarke understands her meaning. She really has been _really_ busy.

Clarke brushes an errant blonde strand from her eyes, “Um, no, of course. Uh, did you need something, from legal?”

“Yes, I did, actually. I’m trying to track down the Admiral’s speech? For the summit?”

“Mm, I heard about that. I don’t have it, but I can look up who does. C’mon.”

Lexa falls into immediate step with Clarke. Both are too awestricken to say anything, so the silence hangs heavy like a morning fog over a prairie. They trade more glances—sometimes meeting eyes, other times darting away, and share smirks until they reach a row of office’s and Lexa reads: LCDR CLARKE GRIFFIN - LEGAL on the door.

Clarke’s office is nice and hugs a wall with a window overlooking the Potomac River. In the distance, the Washington and Lincoln Memorials are visible.

Clarke sits at her desk and begins typing at the computer. “Please, um—have a seat.”

Lexa nods, taking a seat. Clarke has a couple of small plants by the windowsill, a tall shelf full of codes and regulations, stacks of casework piled up on the floor, and a few relics from her alma mater including signed hockey pucks. Lexa takes notice of Clarke’s framed degrees from Harvard with scripted _Summa Cum Laude_.

“Let’s see here, it went through initial review…” Clarke mumbles, “and now it’s… when do you need it?”

“Well, the sooner the better. But the summit is next week, so preferable by the end of this week.”

“Let me… see what I can do.” Clarke picks up her phone, dialing. “Hello? Hi, this is Commander Griffin. Yes, I’m following up with the Admiral’s speech for the U.N. Summit. Mn-hm. Can you get done by COB today? Yeah, ignore those and put this at the top of the docket spread. Yes. If anyone’s upset over it, refer them to me. It’s fine. Have it sent to Commander Lexa Woods.” Clarke gives Lexa a brief, bashful glance, as she says the brunette’s name. “Yes, and cc me. Thanks, bye.”

Clarke hangs up the phone. “Well, ask and you shall receive.”

“Thanks, Clarke, you didn’t have to—but, it’s appreciated. Thank you.”

With full intent to ask Clarke out for a simple coffee, Lexa is betrayed by her heart because the pounding is _unbelievable._ Sure, Lexa can fly headfirst into a storm, but at this very moment, she is frozen. Dead in the water, drowning in those same seas of blues all those months ago. Lexa grasps for air and breaks out of her reverie.

“I um—should be getting back to my office,” Lexa says, breaking eye contact and standing.

“Oh, of course,” Clarke stands with her, walking Lexa the few feet to the door. “Um, I guess I’ll… see you around.”

 “Yes,” Lexa nods. “See you around.”

/

Clarke sits back down, although she cannot recall feeling so stupid with a million questions racing through her mind while Lexa sat in front of her. _Why didn’t Lexa try to contact me in the past two months? Has she really been that busy? Maybe she found someone? Lexa is a fucking stud, of course, she has no problem finding someone. Or maybe, she came here with someone else?_

More single than ever, Clarke can’t believe she isn’t able to muster the courage to ask the woman of her deepest desires out.

Well, that isn’t going to do. At all.

Drastically, Clarke sits up and makes a brisk walk out of her office—essentially chasing Lexa down. She spots Lexa, who is seconds from stepping through the silver elevator doors.

“Lexa, wait!”

Clarke’s shout startles others entering the elevator. It’s a little embarrassing, but Clarke is beyond that.

Lexa pauses, steps back, and lets the double doors ding closed. “Clarke?” Lexa quirks an eyebrow.

 “Um—would you…” Clarke nervously tugs down on her dress jacket. “Would you care to have dinner with me, sometime? Just to… catch up?”

Lexa doesn’t smile. It’s a smile that Clarke oh-so-much wanted to see and feels like she’s back to square one. She can’t read the blank stare on Lexa’s face, just large, roving green eyeballs. _Nothing._

Moments pass and they drive Clarke to the edge of madness.

Clarke is waiting.

And waiting.

She wants to grip Lexa’s collar and scream. _Answer me!_

Doubt begins to form in Clarke’s mind.

 _Oh my god, Lexa_ is _taken! That’s why she hasn’t tried getting in touch with me!_

Clarke feels insane. Cupid stricken and mad with lust and hunger. She wants to grip Lexa’s perfectly pressed lapel and slam the brunette into the back of the elevator because it’s been fucking five months since she’s gotten laid. This is the longest she’s gone without sex since the day she lost her virginity. It’s embarrassing. It’s infuriating. And it makes Clarke needier than she can ever recollect. Her credit card bill for adamandeve.com has gone up considerably.    

“Dinner sounds nice, Clarke. I’ll be gone next week for the summit, obviously… maybe upon my return?”

Clarke can feel—can hear—her heartbeat settle.

“Okay, can I—” Clarke reaches for her pocketed cell phone, “get your number?” And timidly hands her phone to Lexa.

The exchange is charged with a peculiar coy as Lexa takes Clarke’s phone to enter in her personal number. Clarke awaits with pursed lips; she’s doing her best to manage her blush.

“Here.” Lexa hands Clarke’s phone back to her. “I texted myself, so—”

“Thanks.” Clarke takes her phone back.

They stand idle like a couple of loiterers. Several people pass by, unnoticing.

“I uh—” Clarke mumbles, “I’m going to uh, go sit back at my desk now.”

“Right, right.” Lexa pushes the elevator button. “I—me too.”

/

The following week is tortuous for Clarke. Lexa doesn’t text her and Clarke is too worried to “bother” Lexa during the U.N. Summit. Although Clarke has the luxury of following along, the conference is streamed live. Sometimes, if she’s lucky, she can spot Lexa in the crowd—always taking feverish notes manually or via laptop. It’s stalker-ish, Clarke recognizes, but not too stalker-ish because the subjects discussed are relevant to Clarke’s job. Anything the U.S. signs off on requires legal review from international treaties to memorandums of understanding. Clarke wasn’t assigned to the U.N. review committee, and right now, wishes she would have been. Because she would be there, in London, with Lexa. Although Clarke can’t image getting any work done if she were truly reunited with Lexa.

It’s not until Sunday evening that Lexa texts.

_Lexa: dinner, next weekend?_

“Oh my god, _finally,_ ” Clarke says to herself. She snatches her phone from the coffee table and pauses the television. Too nervous to sit, Clarke stands—brushing Theo off her lap. The cat meows as he leaps down. Clarke waits before she responds and can’t believe she’s playing this “game”. The is-it-too-soon-to-text-right-away game and if Clarke does, she’ll appear needy and potentially deter Lexa.

“Oh, fuck it.” Clarke recognizes she is a grown ass woman and if desperate she is, then so be it. Because this isn’t anybody. It’s Lexa. With intellect that rivals to her own, a body cut from the fucking gods and eyes that pierce Clarke’s soul, Lexa is the cause of flipping Clarke’s entire dating life upside down.

_Clarke: Saturday, 7 pm at a place called The Werks?_

Clarke sends Lexa the Yelp link to the restaurant.

_Lexa: looks great, see you then_

_Clarke: k, see you then_

A goofy smile rests on Clarke’s face and she rereads the short string of texts over and over again. It’s happening. Lexa is _here._

/

Next Saturday morning.

Clarke hasn’t slept well in the past week—too much excitement. Like when your parents tell you you’re going to Disney and you stay up every night fantasizing until the day comes. Morning workouts at the gym have helped.

Departing the gym, Clarke is casually walking to one of her favorite local coffee shops a couple of blocks down. They have the best homemade scones.

Through the windows, the shop doesn’t look terribly overcrowded—some days the line is out the door. Feeling lucky, Clarke reaches for the door and just as she does, she spots Lexa. It’s unmistakable. The brunette is sitting at one of the far tables, then stands to hug _another woman._ The—other—woman has dark hair, piercing eyes with a jawline to match. She is very pretty—tall, tan, and lean—everything Clarke is not. Clarke’s confidence takes the biggest hit since puberty in high school and she swallows down a choke.

The hug is intimate and Lexa’s smile is _beaming._ Clarke continues to watch in heartbreak as the woman proceeds to twirl Lexa’s hair before brushing the strand and tucking it behind Lexa’s ear. She cups Lexa’s face and Lexa _blushes._ There is no mistake about it because it’s the same look Clarke earned herself all those months ago. It confirms all of Clarke’s fears, Lexa _is_ seeing someone else. Emotionally overly committed, Clarke is crushed and can’t bear to look anymore. She fights the sourness of her jaw and hotness in her eyes, and lets go of the door, quickly turning away.

/

“Oh, let the hair down today Lexa?” says Anya, tugging at Lexa’s hair that she rarely let down. “Is this for that hot date you have tonight?” Anya cups Lexa’s face. “But, of course, who could resist my baby cousin’s pretty face.”

The thought of Clarke—tonight—brings a blush to Lexa’s face she doesn’t even bother to hide from Anya.

“Stop it, Anya, it’s good to see you too. I am _so_ sorry it’s been two fucking months since I’ve gotten a chance to see you. The summit was crazy. I spent the entirety of last weekend catching up on sleep. My house is a mess, you wouldn’t even recognize it as mine.”

“That bad, huh? Even for a meticulous neat freak like you?”

“Yes… except being neat requires time and commitment that I haven’t had the pleasure. I’m still living out of a couple of suitcases.”

A chime comes in through Lexa’s phone, and her furrowed brow of disappointment doesn’t go unnoticed by Anya.

_Clarke: sorry, something came up, can’t make it tonight_

_Lexa: np, reschedule?_

“What’s up?”

“Um—uh, nothing. I—my date canceled tonight,” Lexa says, almost whispering. She takes a deep breath and shakes it off. “Well, that means the good news is I’m free tonight for dinner to see Raven and Al. Got room for one more?”

“Absolutely,” Anya responds. “Well, with the amount you eat, I’ll have to tell Rae to buy an extra pound of ground turkey for the meatloaf.”

“Oh please, I’ll bring an extra bottle of wine.”

“Deal.”

“Great.”

/

“Auntie Lexie!!!”

“Hey there!” Lexa opens her arms to her nephew, Aldrin. “What’s up buddy?!” Picks him up and spins him around. “Oh my gosh you’ve gotten so big!”

The place smells wonderfully of food—homey, and what used to be a spotless home has transformed into a giant playpen for Al with toys, stuffed animals, and children’s books that litter the floor.

“Hey, Lexa!”

“Hey, Raven.”

They embrace with Lexa still holding onto Al. She passes Raven the wine; Raven looks like she’s trying to clean up some with other toys, cups, and blankets in her hands.

“Sorry, Ahn told me your date bailed on ya, sucks.”

Lexa shakes her head, dismissive, although Clarke has yet to text back. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been wanting to see you guys.”

“Auntie, Auntie,” Al tugs at Lexa’s shirt. “You wanna come see my room!”

“Sure do,” Lexa puts him down because Al’s feet are already squirming, ready to run.

“Come on, ‘dis way!” Al anxiously takes Lexa’s hand to lead her down the hall. They kick a few trucks, dolls, and more books along the way.

“I wanna show you my new toys!”

Lexa spends roughly thirty minutes playing with Al prior to dinner. The dinosaurs and barbies live together and stuffed trucks pave over large, plastic Legos. None of it makes sense and it never ceases to amaze Lexa how every single person starts out this way—the world in disarray, where nothing needs to make sense before societal rules are instilled. She admires his freedom—the bliss of innocence.

“Lex, Al, dinner!” Anya shouts.

They’re having turkey meatloaf, mixed greens, and pasta salad. Lexa misses cooking. Since she started her job in D.C. has been living on take-out. Although the take-out in D.C. is not something to complain about, Lexa misses cooking. It’s relaxing. Methodical, even. Following recipes with slight room for personalization—that added dash of salt or extra pinch of spice. It’s a whole lot less stressful than rescuing lives at sea.

“So, now that the summit is over, how’s your schedule looking?” Raven inquires.

“It’s a definite lull,” Lexa replies. “I at least have my weekends back.”

“Oooo…” Raven raises her eyebrows.

“Rae—” Anya cuts. “I told you not to.”

“Not to what?” Lexa says.

Anya huffs. “Raven wants to know if you’ll babysit next weekend, so we can get a night out, but considering you’ve been so busy—I already told her that you’ve barely had any time to yourself.”

“Ahn, of course it’s fine. Please, Al and I will have a date. We’ll watch Cars 3,” Lexa says happily. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

“See,” Raven taps her wife on the arm. “I told you Lexa wouldn’t mind.”

“Well, thank you, Lexa,” says Anya.

“You know,” Raven starts, “not that you need a wing-woman, but we got some single friends—a few who aren’t looking for anything serious if you wanna bang one out real quick.”

“Rae!” Anya smacks her wife on the shoulder.

“Wud does dat mean, mummy?” Al copies. “Bang wun out?”

“This is why our child has switched daycares, twice,” Anya chides. “Because of the shit that comes flying out of his mouth.”

“Shit! Shit!” Al cheers on his high chair.

“No, no, ssshhh,” Anya tries without avail to shush her son. “That’s a bad word. We don’t say bad words.”

Raven only laughs. “First, kids all need to learn sometime. And second, a woman has needs!”

“No, I’m okay, actually,” Lexa says, laughing. “I’m good.”

That’s mostly true, if Clarke would _just_ text her back. It’s been all day. Lexa is contemplating a second, prompting text. But she also has no idea what Clarke’s been up to in nearly six months, a lot could have changed. Clarke could have easily meant a casual dinner to truly catch up and nothing else.

“You sure?” says Raven.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure,” Lexa replies, although there’s a slight hesitation in the “sure” and she gets _nothing_ past Anya.

“Who’s this girl anyways, Lex. The one you were supposed to meet tonight?” Anya asks.

Lexa sighs, “She’s um—remember about six months ago, when I had that case going on?”

Anya nods.

“The lawyer. My… assigned lawyer.”

“You mean the one you marathon fu—dged every night?!” Anya says.

“Yesss,” Lexa replies in a low hiss. “She lives here, in D.C.”

“Sleepless in Seattle chick!” Raven yells. “Oh, shit!”

Al goes off again, mimicking his parents. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“Dammit, Rae,” Anya says.

“Dammit! Shit! Dammit! Shit!”

“ _Aldrin Woods-Reyes_ ,” Anya enunciates and drops the deadly stare of maternal eyeballs.

Al quiets, immediately. And then, his lips start to quiver and begins to wail.

Anya tosses her hands up. “Oh for—goodness sake. C’mere.” Anya reaches for her son, but he flinches.

“No! I want Auntie Lexie!”

“Okay, okay,” Lexa drops her voice, “I’m here.” And picks Al up in one swoop out of the high chair and onto her lap. Al settles immediately, pushing his sobbed face into Lexa’s shoulder. Lexa continues to pat his back while eating with her left hand.

“You’re hired,” Raven says. “We’ll stop sending him to daycare and pay you fifty bucks a week. You can even live in our basement for free.”

They all laugh.

“Deal, but only if I get in on your Netflix and HBO accounts,” Lexa replies.

“Mmm…” Raven feigns consideration. “I guess we can add you to Netflix… but HBO?”

“Fine, I’ll chip in for the HBO, but I get to bring girls back to the basement on weekends.”

They continue to laugh.

“Speaking of which, when’s the next date then?” Raven asks.

Lexa shrugs, “I don’t know, she hasn’t texted me back—bit frustrating.”

“Gimme your phone,” Anya reaches out.

“What, Ahn, no. I can speak for myself. I’m not a teenage useless lesbian anymore, thank you.”

Anya retracts, “Fine. But you have _got_ to do a better job of keeping us updated, especially now that you live here.”

“I will, I will.”

They finish dinner with ice cream for dessert.

“Alright, c’mon Al, let’s go wash up before bed,” Anya reaches for her son.

“Mn!” He grumps a clear ‘no’ in Lexa’s shoulder.

Lexa tips her head down, “C’mon, you don’t want to go wash up? I’ll come with you?”

“Ummm… Okay…”

Lexa helps Al into the tub of bubbly water, although there’s more playing involved than washing as they submerge floating toys and propel them upwards, successfully splashing water over the edge of the tub. The front of Lexa’s shirt and the knees at her jeans are soaked, but entertaining her nephew has taken precedence.

“Auntie, is dis what you do? Pssshhhhhhh…” Al takes a boat and flies it above the bubbles in the water like a plane.”

“Yep, pretty much. Except my boat has four rotary blades?”

“Four wha?”

“Rotary blades, that’s what they call the top of the helicopter. It spins.”

“Hey!” Raven knocks on the wall. “Almost time for bed, c’mon.”

“Aw… man…” Al whines, having too much fun with his Aunt.

“C’mon bud,” Lexa grabs his Cars themed towel. “I’ll tuck you in, okay?”

“Okay.”

Lexa helps Al put on his PJ’s, lightly ticking the boy as she picks him up and lays him down. His giggling laughter is everything. Pure joy.

“Hey Lex, do you want some sweats to change into on your way home?” Anya offers, taking notice of Lexa’s wet clothes.

“Um, nah, it’s just a short drive.”

“Wait! Are you leaving Auntie Lexie?!”

“Not yet, but eventually.”

“Noooooo, pwease stay.”

Al’s begging blue eyes are really cute, plus he has an added pout to his lip and it crushes Lexa.

“Well, I think that’s a question for you mom.”

“Mommy, can Auntie pwease stay?”

Anya rolls her eyes. “Okay dear, but only if you let her change out of those wet clothes.”

“Yay!”

“Okay, be right back,” Lexa says.

Anya gives Lexa some sweats from her drawer. “You know, you’re going to make a great mom someday Lex.”

Lexa sighs, “Ahn…” and takes the sweats from her cousin’s hands.

“What? You are.” Anya nods towards her son. “That kid loves you.”

“Yes, because I come sparingly and bear gifts. I’m not the one that needs to scold him. And you’re missing one prime piece of the puzzle, a wife perhaps?”

“You’ll find someone soon,” Anya nudges Lexa with her elbow. “I can feel it.”

Anya has always been in tune with something Lexa finds ridiculous. Gut “feelings.” In Anya’s defense, she has always had good luck. Growing up, Anya typically got the lucky bounces for soccer goals, win that twenty dollars on a dollar scratch off, be that caller on the radio station.  Everything Lexa does is through calculated precision, not a hunch.

“Right… Ahn, thanks. Real reassuring.”

“I’m serious, Lexa.”

“Auntie Lexieeee!!”

“Whelp, that’s me,” Lexa says and corner’s Al’s room.

“You want a bedtime story?”

“Ya, ya!”

“Alright,” Lexa looks at Al’s bookshelf. “Which one?”

Lexa reads down the list of several books until they settle on _A Day in the Life of Marlon Bundo,_ a rabbit story. Lexa lays down beside her nephew and he curls into her side.

“Auntie Lexie?” Al says, looking up.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to come watch me pway hockey?”

Al _loves_ hockey and with the Washington Capital’s win of the 2018 Stanley Cup, Al’s become a huge fan with much of his room decorated in red and white hockey accessories.

“Of course, I’ll come to watch you bud, wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Lexa ruffles the top of his hair.

“Okay,” Al smiles a big and toothy smile. “Good.”

He falls asleep not even halfway through the book. It’s so precious it’s painful. Carefully, Lexa sweeps away some of his light brown hair and reaches to turn off the light. Just then, her phone buzzes and it causes Al to stir.

“Shit…” Lexa reaches for her phone.

_Clarke: sorry, just notified about a case in texas_

_Clarke: leaving tmr, text you when I get back_

_Lexa: okay_

For several minutes, Clarke doesn’t reply. No ellipsis, nothing. It doesn’t sit well in Lexa’s stomach—call it a hunch-which Lexa finds incredibly ironic. It’s difficult to ignore.

_Lexa: I look forward to it_

Ellipsis appear and reappears several times, like Clarke can’t decide on what to type. If it isn’t for Al sleeping across her, Lexa would easily call Clarke. Then the ellipsis completely disappear and Lexa waits several minutes—as if Clarke gave up on a response and just put down her phone.

Lexa sighs, “Whatever…” Already annoyed by the texting-game. Lexa doesn’t play games and didn’t think Clarke of the type either. But this recent experience is proving her wrong. Lexa doesn’t like to be wrong.

_Lexa: have a good night, clarke_

_Clarke: goodnight_

Al stirs again, likely from the light produced by Lexa’s phone screen. She clicks off her phone and shelves it. Secretly, Lexa allows herself to imagine that it’s her home, her son, and a wife—Clarke—waiting for her in the next room over. Lexa places a kiss on top of her nephew’s head.

“Goodnight little guy. I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. They'll get it together soon. Next chapter. Think, ice rink.


	13. The Reunion Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa sexa ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @dreamsaremywords!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There is a drawback to doing your work well. More work. Clarke completes the Texas case in three days and she’s home by midday Thursday, receiving a personal letter of appreciation for her expedited efforts and top recommendation for the next case of her choosing. After her heartbreaking discovery that Lexa is seeing someone, Clarke tries to volunteer for more work as a distraction, except work alone isn’t enough. Good thing she has other hobbies.

_Clarke: can you pick me up on Friday?_

Clarke doesn’t have a car; she metros to work daily. And today, she snags rides to the ice rink from one of her best friends and coaching partner, Octavia Blake. They were teammates back in high school and reunited when Clarke moved to D.C.

_Octavia: you’re already back from Texas?_

_Clarke: yeah, finished early, so i can help coach tomorrow_

_Octavia: omg, awesome. I was dreading another ice session with echo_

_Clarke: was it really that bad?_

_Octavia: are you kidding me. coaching with my brothers gf. Just bc she’s from north canada, she thinks her drills are better than mine_

_Clarke: worry not, for I have returned_

_Clarke: what are you going to do when he asks her to marry him?_

_Octavia: I dunno, sacrifice myself the day I’m related to that bitch_

Clarke rolls her eyes with a light laugh.

Octavia isn’t the warmest of people. She has an intimidating demeanor, which takes time to acclimate to. But, Octavia is a genuine friend and will go to the world’s end to help anybody. Two years ago, Octavia’s brother, Bellamy, started dating Echo, a rival instructor from across town. Echo has since moved in with Bellamy and now shares ice time with Clarke and Octavia. Octavia never liked Echo, who favored playing hockey “the Canadian way,” i.e. adding extra hits when the referee isn’t looking. Early on, mutual dinner parties were disastrous, but have since improved to tolerance. While Clarke isn’t a fan of Echo either, she does her best to stay out of it.  

_Clarke: see you friday!_

_/_

_“_ So, fuck any hot cowboys or cowgirls in Texas?” Octavia asks just as Clarke deposits her hockey bag and sticks into Octavia’s car.

“Nah…”

“What? Really? C’mon, now that Linc and I are engaged, I really have to live vicariously through you.”

“You. Need to live vicariously while engaged to Mr. November?”

Lincoln is a firefighter and was recently featured in the month of November after submitting to a nationwide firefighter calendar. Shirtless.

“Yeah, you’re right. But the chase though. Serious, what’s been going with you lately? Not just lately, past few months.”

Clarke shakes her head dismissively, “Nothing.”

“You’re still strung on Seattle, aren’t you?”

Clarke’s silence is her guilt, clicking on her seatbelt.

“Knew it,” says Octavia. “I’m telling you, maybe she’s the one.”

“It’s not her, it’s me. And I am in control of my own behavior. Thanks.”

“I still think you made the wrong decision.”

“No, I didn’t. There are no wrong or right decisions. It’s all subjective.”

“Stop talking like a lawyer and tell me how you really feel.”

Octavia is a police officer and right now, she’s speaking with her cop face and her mirrored aviator sunglasses add to the intimidation factor. Clarke supposes they’re such good friends because all the bullshit is cut, which, can be refreshing at times, but also difficult to admit truths. Like now.

“Ughhh… okay, fine. I found out she moved here like two months ago. Was going to get dinner, but saw her with somebody last weekend,” Clarke spouts. “That’s why I took the Texas case.”

Octavia peels off her sunglasses to stare down Clarke.

“What?”

“Yep, exactly that.”

“And your 100% percent positive she’s with someone else.”

“Well, like… 90% if I had to give it a number. 85, okay, 80. It all happened so quickly. I was going in for coffee as usual and saw her smiling across from another woman. The pure look of joy was very clear.”

“Okay…” Octavia chews on the corner of her glasses, analyzing Clarke’s account. “Kissing?”

“Uh, no, there wasn’t actually a kiss, but—a unique type of closeness. It was _not_ casual.”

“Did you see the other woman’s face?”

“Uh, no… just from the side—really pretty.”

“What if she’s a relative?”

Clarke holds her tongue. She could have easily been blinded by her own feelings and having Octavia, one of DC area’s best cop, talk it out loud helps.

“Well…” Clarke squints her eyes, trying to dig into her memory and recall what _exactly_ the other woman looked like. “It’s—”

“It’s possible,” Octavia confirms, returning her glasses on her face. “You’re always so quick to jump to conclusions—lawyer in you. And you don’t even have all the facts this time.”

Octavia is right and Clarke has nothing to say but to nod in agreement.

In ten minutes, they arrive at the rink, greeted by the cool ice-chilled air and enter the coach’s locker room. Stepping out, the rink is beginning to busy with parents and their children, some fully dressed and ready, while others partially dressed and messing around: squirting water and throwing objects at each other.

“Hey, Raven,” Clarke greets, watching Raven walk Al to the ice.

Clarke and Raven are casual acquaintances with a basic parent-coach relationship. Discussions predominately circle around Al and his hockey development. They don’t know each other’s occupations, although Clarke is aware that Raven is in a same-sex relationship but has yet to meet Raven’s wife.

“Al said he missed you last week,” Raven says.

“Oh did he?” Clarke kneels down to Al’s level.

“Have you been practicing Al?” Clarke asks.

He nods, enthusiastically. “Every day. I wanna be the next O-betcha-kin.”

Al means Alex Ovechkin, captain of the Washington Capitals NHL team.

“Yep, you bet. Gotta keep working hard though, now get on the ice and start warming up,” Clarke says, tapping Al on this helmet.

Nodding, Al skips onto the ice and begins staking.

“Oh, hey.” Raven places a hand on Clarke’s forearm and leans in closer than casual. This piques Clarke’s curiosity. “I don’t normally do this but…” Raven starts. “You’re not dating anyone, right?”

“Um—no, but, aren’t you married?” Clarke taps Raven’s ring. (Unless Raven and her wife are seeking a third and wouldn’t be the first time Clarke’s been offered to join a married couple.)

“Oh, Jesus, not me. My wife’s cousin.”

“Oh.” Clarke thinks about her past blind dates, all terrible. “Sorry, I’m just, I’m really not interested in seeing anybody right now. Thank you, though. That’s very thoughtful of you, Raven.”

“Are you sure? Oh, speak of the devil,” Raven nods at the door.

Clarke drops dead. Because none other than Lexa Woods walks through the rink doors followed by whom Clarke can only assume is Raven’s wife. It dawns on Clarke immediately, her wholehearted stupidity, because it’s the same woman Clarke saw Lexa with at the coffee shop two weeks ago.  

“Clarke, this is my wife,” Raven gestures. “Anya.”

“Hi,” Clarke shakes Anya’s hand.

“And _this_ , is her cousin, Lexa.”

There’s a knowing grin on Lexa’s face—the same one on Clarke’s face—and they reach to shake hands for pure social curtesy. Lexa’s hand is warm and her handshake is sure, steady and familiar. Lexa sneaks in a brush of the thumb, raising the hairs on the back of Clarke’s neck and Clarke can only rewind (or fast forward) to those same hands raking fire on her bare skin.

“Clarke!” Octavia calls for her from the rink and taps her wrist, though she doesn’t wear a watch.

“Uh,” Clarke drops Lexa’s hand. “Excuse me—it was um, nice to meet you, Lexa…” Clarke diverts her eyes, about to get lost deep in the woods, and distances herself from the abyss. “And you as well, Anya.”

/

“So,” Raven nudges Lexa. “What do you think? I told you she was cute.”

“Raven,” Lexa says in a flat tone of inquiry.

“What?”

“Do you know what Clarke does, for a living?”

“Ummm… no, can’t say I do. Al’s hockey coach?”

“So this is the only capacity you’ve seen her?”

“Yep, mm-hmm. Hit it and quit it girl. A good enough acquaintance so it’s not stranger sex, but distant enough that chances of accidental awkward run-ins are unlikely. It’s the perfect no-strings attached-situation.” Raven peers at the ice. “Look, she’s even looking at you with some heart eyes.”

Lexa dares to follow Raven’s gaze and meets Clarke’s eyes across the ice. Clarke smirks, and Lexa smiles back.

“Wow, you two have some serious chemistry, interested in a date now Lexa?” Raven asks.

“Raven,” Lexa takes a long breath, still eyeing Clarke on the ice. “Clarke is a JAG lawyer.”

“What? How do you know th—”

Raven is quick; her eyes widen as she comes to realization and Anya catches in equal apt.

“Lexa,” Anya tips Lexa’s chin at her. “That’s _her_?”

Lexa’s slow, prolonged, blink is her answer.

“Oh my fucking god,” Raven says, and steps towards the snack bar. “I’m getting some popcorn for this show. Babe?”

“Yep, get me some too. And nachos!” Anya replies.

And a show it is because Lexa is the target of _every joke_. It’s like she’s back in middle school being made fun of for crushing on a girl as Anya and Raven go back and forth, rebounding off each other. At one point, Raven even throws a kernel of popcorn in Lexa’s direction after a lengthy period of silence.

“Hey, what are you thinking ‘bout, Lex?” Raven jibes. “Her tits or her ass?”

“Jesus, Raven,” Lexa rolls pinches the bridge of her nose. “Honestly Anya, how do you let her out?”

Anya pops a chip in her mouth and answers her wife. “Definitely her tits. Lexa’s a boob girl, always has been. Mn, this one time, when we were 15 in soccer camp, Lex—ow!”

Lexa smacks Anya in the knee. “What happens in soccer camp, stays in soccer camp. Now can we please talk about something else? Like your son, perhaps?”

"I'll tell you later at home, babe," Anya says, swatting the air dismissively at Lexa. 

Raven and Anya relent, and the remainder of the hour cannot pass any slower. Lexa checks her phone every minute, waiting for the session to finish and her next opportunity to talk to Clarke.

//

Across the ice, Lexa’s eyes are boring a hole through her and it’s incredibly distracting. Clarke’s thoughts are scattered, barely able to think of the next drill; her gaze continually betrays her and wanders in Lexa’s direction, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Octavia.

“Hey.” Octavia taps Clarke in the shin pad with a hockey stick. “You can get her number later, Romeo, there’s only fifteen minutes left.”

_I already have her number._

“Yeah— sorry, I um— never mind,” Clarke stutters mid-thought.

Octavia furrows her brow. A flustered Clarke is as uncommon as a blue moon. “What’s going on with you, you know her or something?”

“Well… you could say that,” Clarke says, batting a glance at Lexa.

“I thought you said in the car you weren’t interested in seeing anybody right now.”

“Except…”

“Is that—Seattle?” Octavia asks, taking another look at Lexa. “Oh,” Octavia chuckles, “it’s definitely her isn’t it?”

Clarke purses her lips in full admittance. “Yep,” Clarke pops the ‘p,’ and bashes another shy glimpse in Lexa’s direction. “Name’s Lexa… she would be the one.”

Octavia makes a quick scan of the children practicing around them, skating and circling around orange cones. “Fine, you get one pass Griff. Wanna just scrimmage the kids the rest of the time? You and Seattle can continue eye-fucking.” Octavia blows her whistle before Clarke can answer—mouth slightly agape—and Octavia rounds up the class for a scrimmage.

At the end of the hour, Clarke steps off the ice with anticipation bubbling. The eye contact has been constant; there is no mistake about the look in Lexa’s eyes. It’s wildfire. And Clarke is ready to dive directly into it.

“Lexa.” Clarke catches the brunette standing alongside Anya and Raven, waiting for Al to change.

“Clarke.”

“I was um, wondering what you’re doing, after this?”

“I—” Lexa eyes flow between Anya and Raven, “—have dinner plans…”

Raven rolls her eyes, “Christ, this is painful to watch. Lex, you’re uninvited,” Raven says unabashedly and gives Lexa a slight shove in Clarke’s direction. “And I mean that in the most loving way.”

Clarke is beginning to _really_ like this Raven.

“In fact,” Anya speaks up, tapping Lexa's shoulder. “Lexa’s free all weekend, aren’t you Lex?”

“Uh—yes,” Lexa nods. Any is letting her off the hook for previously agreeing to babysit Al this weekend. “Thank you—Ahn."

Anya winks then turns her attention to her son who is shuffling out of the locker room, dressed and ready to go. 

Raven, Anya, and Al depart, all three holding hands. It's a precious sight, but as soon as the doors close, Lexa refocuses on the blonde before her. “Care if I walk you to your car, Clarke?”

“I… don’t have a car.” Clarke nods in Octavia’s direction, “I usually ride with Octavia.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind,” Lexa says. “Giving you a ride, that is?”

Clarke face brightens, nodding and shoulders her hockey bag. Once outside, Lexa pops the trunk to her 4Runner, revealing several boxes and an assortment of leftover articles from moving: a suitcase, couple of totes, loose clothing and shoes.

“Um, sorry,” Lexa begins to apologize for her messy trunk, failing to anticipate the outcome of today’s events. “I still haven’t fully unpacked. I normally keep a much cleaner car.”

There’s clearly no room in the back for Clarke’s hockey gear. “Just um—” Lexa closes the trunk gate and opens the side door. “Just toss it into the back seat.”

“Thanks.”

Clarke shoves her bag onto the back seat and runs her hockey sticks across the top. The storage condition of her stuff is the least of Clarke’s concern with her heart is pounding out of her chest. She wonders if Lexa can hear the thumping and feels like a teenager, sneaking away into a car to make out at the top of a hill. Except they’re beyond that—they’ve been beyond that—from the instant Lexa stepped into the rink until now. It’s been _too_ long.

Clarke should have carb-loaded for what’s to come, because the moment both doors close, they leap across the center console at each other—grabbing faces and smashing lips. Clarke lets out an uncontrolled dirty moan when Lexa’s tongue slips directly into her mouth, gliding past her own tongue and flickering against her teeth. It’s messy. It’s hard. And Clarke drives forward, claiming Lexa’s mouth with zero restraint. Desperate to be closer, Clarke climbs over the console onto Lexa’s lap, forcing the brunette backward against the seat so Clarke can kiss her deeper, angling the brunette’s face to her will.

Knowing hands find purchase on Clarke’s hips before they make their way underneath her shirt, snaking up her sides and ending a chill down Clarke’s spine. Lexa’s hands are warm and grip with the assurance, the confidence, the _experience_ Clarke’s been craving all these months.

“God, fuck, Lexa…” Clarke moans between kisses, riding and grinding on Lexa’s lap, quickly becoming aware of their confined space.

Lexa attempts to lower her seat back but is stopped by Clarke’s hockey bag. Also, the ends of Clarke’s hockey sticks spin above them like the rotary blades Lexa pilots. “Ugh… fuck,” Lexa lightly curses, removing her hand from under Clarke shirt to push the whacking sticks aside.  

Moans and the slop of kissing noises mix with the shuffle of hockey gear and cardboard boxes. While lips remain glued, Clarke joins in to try and help Lexa push stuff away. Nothing is elegant about this moment.

“Whatever,” Lexa mumbles, abandoning the loose items and leans into Clarke to reclaim the depth of her kiss. Lexa’s momentum sends Clarke back, sitting full on the car horn and the loud, extended BEEP startles them both.

They part from car honk, both panting with eyes blown and hair equally tussled. They recognize how infelicitous their current situation is—trying to fuck in the cramped front seat of a packed car when they each have their own places.

Lexa swallows before speaking. “How far do you live?”

“How fast can you drive?”

Deciding, Lexa knits her brow and pouts her lower lip. A lip too irresistible and Clarke tilts Lexa’s face up to her and draws the pout between her teeth. Nipping and sucking on Lexa’s lip to restart their make-out session.

“Mm… right now…” Kiss. “I’m uhn—willing to…” Kiss. “…blow a few…” Kiss. “…stop signs.”

Clarke wants to stop, but can’t bring herself to. With deserted restraint, every molecule in her body is compelling her forward until Lexa pulls away to re-ask.

“Clarke, how far?”

“Um,” Clarke shakes her head, forcing concentration. “Ten minutes, usually. Can make you make in five?”

Five minutes: that’s what separates them in this very moment. Not space, but time. Five minutes until they can strip each other bare and clash their bodies together.

“Yeah,” Lexa begins to nod. “Five minutes.”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly, Clarke scoots off Lexa’s lap and returns to the passenger side. Lexa’s already peeling the tires in a screech before Clarke has on her seatbelt.

/

Seven minutes later (finding a parking spot took two minutes), Clarke fumbles her keys; her hands shake wildly and she drops them.

“Shit.” Clarke retrieves them and tries again, keys jingling worse than a Salvation Army volunteer bell during the holidays.

“Here…” Lexa gently brings her hand over Clarke’s, steadying the blonde’s. There has always been something majestic about Lexa’s hands: the acuity, the composure, and steadiness. Clarke wonders if it has to do with Lexa’s training—her ability to pilot a helicopter into a storm—or maybe it’s just Lexa. A born trait, intuition, and everything that Clarke’s instincts tell her to succumb to.

With Lexa’s help, the deadbolt slides open and with a click and a push, they’re inside. Immediately, Lexa overwhelms Clarke; her mouth on Clarke’s and crowds the blonde against the entry table, knocking off a vase.

“Sorry…” Lexa mumbles into Clarke’s mouth. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Don’t care,” Clarke pants, wrapping her arms around Lexa’s shoulders and hugging the brunette close. Sinking in, Clarke inhales the familiar scent that warms her core and closes her eyes to revere in the nostalgia that is Lexa. From the sweep of the brunette’s tongue to the comfort of her embrace, Lexa _feels_ familiar akin to going home the summer after that first year of college.

Blindly backing up, Clarke leads Lexa into her bedroom, falling when the back of her knees hit the mattress. Lexa lands on top, eagerly kissing her way down Clarke’s neck while stripping the blonde of her clothes. Lexa only pauses to peel off her own clothes—a shirt overhead, a simple bra unclasp, and kicking of bottoms—returning to kiss Clarke’s sternum before nuzzling the blonde’s neck.

“Mmm… Lexa….” Clarke sighs with the flush of hot skin on skin. Clarke buries her hands into Lexa’s hair, everything is right about this moment and Clarke doesn’t know how she’s gone months without it. “God I missed you.”

Lexa stops to look at the blonde, hovering with nose tips brushing. “What… did you say?”

Clarke looks Lexa in the eyes, beautiful emerald green eyes, and cups Lexa’s face. “I missed you. I—I know it sounds ridiculous, it was barely a week, but—”

Lexa cuts her off. “I missed you too, Clarke,” Lexa replies, eyes roving with truth, a hint of hurt, but eons of tenderness. “I missed you so much.”

“You never called.”

“You never called either.”

“Maybe I should have,” says Clarke.

“Me too,” Lexa replies.

“I suppose we’ll just have to make up for lost time.”

“It’s been months, Clarke.”

“Well, you better hurry up and get started,” Clarke says with a teasing grin.

Clarke is rewarded with a sparkle in Lexa’s eyes followed by a brilliant smile.

Returning, Lexa gives Clarke a deep, deep kiss. She slots a leg between Clarke’s and swallows the moan that escapes from Clarke’s throat. Clarke knows she’s already a needy mess down there—has been since their lengthy game of eye fucking—but can’t care less and openly grinds against Lexa’s thigh. In return, Clarke presses her own thigh against Lexa. The brunette effortlessly rocks in sync with her and a seamless balance is reached between the two: a push there equals a pull here; handholds release into hair threading; smiles are found between kisses; eyes cycle open and closed. Clarke rolls them around to descend between Lexa’s legs when the brunette urges Clarke to rotate around.

“C’mere,” Lexa murmurs. “I want to taste you, too.”

Sixty-nine. And when Clarke encloses her lips over Lexa, Lexa licks into her. Clarke’s knees quiver from the work of Lexa’s tongue, but Lexa holds her thighs tight, pulling Clarke down and shoving her tongue into the blonde, swirling it around as deep as practical before lapping over Clarke’s swollen clit.

Lexa’s hips begin to pick up pace against Clarke’s mouth, rocking faster when Clarke teases Lexa’s entrance with her fingertips and drives inside. A muffled moan sounds from Lexa before Clarke is also filled. Clarke falters; her hips drop from the sensation and she does her best to keep up with the brunette. Fucking and sucking. But Lexa is pounding into her, building Clarke hard and fast until Clarke is trembling above Lexa, seconds from coming when Lexa adds a third finger that hurls Clarke over the edge.

Clarke screams a stifled cry against Lexa’s clit, fighting the urge to stop and thrusts her fingers faster into Lexa until the brunette freezes underneath her. Thighs clamp and Lexa’s inner walls clench. They ride out their orgasms into each other mouths until Clarke collapses, slumping her full weight on Lexa, gasping for air.

The brunette shifts under her and Clarke automatically scoots off, allowing Lexa to sit up. It’s unexpected when Lexa reaches for the nape of her neck and pulls Clarke in for a sloppy kiss.

“Mmmm…” Clarke moans at the mix of aftertastes.

There’s so much fire Clarke doesn’t know what to do with it. Lexa is burning her alive. As memory serves, Lexa’s just getting started, fisting Clarke’s hair and subjecting Clarke to a delicious assault. Clark is putty, pliant to Lexa’s will when the brunette pulls Clarke to straddle her lap. Clarke reverts to instinct and reflexes; she can’t think, arching her back when Lexa dips to take a nipple into her mouth while playing with the other between her fingertips. The pressure is perfect, working Clarke up again.

Clarke begins to grind with little avail, partly wishing Lexa had a strap-on to fuck her. But there’s also a certain intimacy to _this._ Clarke doesn’t need anything else and is quickly proven right when Lexa’s hand disappears between them and fingertips reacquaint themselves with Clarke’s center of pleasure.

“God, fuck Lexa.” Clarke clasps onto Lexa’s shoulders, nails imprinting red crescents along Lexa’s traps as Lexa massages perfect patterns into her.

The blonde’s moans blend with incoherent muttering and Clarke rocks harder, looking for more pressure, more speed, just more.

“More…” Clarke begs into Lexa’s ear.

Lexa nods—or something—and nudges Clarke up, reaching her other hand around Clarke’s ass and finds her entrance, easily sliding into Clarke’s slickness from that angle.

Clarke’s moans are downright pornographic. She doesn’t know how Lexa is managing with both hands crammed between her legs, one affront and one behind, but _fuck._ It doesn’t take long at all with Lexa thrusting into her while teasing her clit.

“Oh… shit!” Clarke reaches her second orgasm of the night, spilling onto Lexa’s hands. Clarke’s jaw also has a mind of its own, inadvertently clamping down while her body shudders. Clarke draws blood and it does little, if anything, to faze Lexa. It’s as if the brunette is in some red-zone, pulling her finger out only to reshuffle Clarke onto her back before burying her face between Clarke’s legs.

“Uhn, Lex!” Clarke fists Lexa’s thick tresses with both hands. Lexa is lapping up _everything_ , licking the bowl fucking clean as if it were the last drops of water left on earth.

“Fuck… tastes so good,” Lexa mumbles in barely audible range.

Lexa spreads her wide, pushing Clarke’s thighs apart and shoves her tongue deep into Clarke. She thumbs Clarke’s clit, making generous passes, up-and-down and up-and-down and Clarke practically loses her mind. They _way_ Lexa can build her, crank Clarke with every flick of her tongue, every rub across her clit.

“Oh god, Lexa. Oh fuck, Lexa!”

In the morning, the occupants of Clarke’s shared walls in her townhome will know. Hell, the entire neighborhood will know who Lexa is.

“Lex—I’m coming! Fuck!”

Clarke falls like a rocket careening towards earth. Her thighs flex, twisting and squirming in pleasure until her orgasm subsides. Lexa moves carefully, kissing her way out from Clarke’s inner thighs and up her stomach until she finds Clarke’s lips again. The kiss is slower, easy and languid; the rush of desperation fulfilled and reaching a comfortable lull.

They continue to take their time, setting a leisure pace with wandering hands and drifting mouths. Clarke loves this. She smiles and sometimes, laughs. “I’m so happy you’re here, Lexa.”

“Me too, Clarke,” Lexa whispers into her ear.

The night remains young until it’s replaced by early day. Ambient sunlight leaks through Clarke’s curtains when they’ve exhausted each other. Clarke curls her body around Lexa’s, spooning the brunette and kissing between Lexa’s shoulder blades.

“Mmm…” the brunette hums in content.

Lexa finds Clarke’s hand, weaving them together and tugs the blonde flush along her back. Sleep soon overcomes them and Clarke nuzzles her face into the base of the brunette’s neck. She last registers the tickle of Lexa’s hair in her face.


	14. The Weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa have sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings beautiful people! Thank you all for being so patient. Here's one for the weekend!

Her bladder is going to explode; Lexa shifts underneath Clarke but Clarke only squeezes tighter with an arm across her chest and a leg thrown high around her waist, placing even more pressure on her bladder. The sun sits high in the sky, it’s well past noon, which isn’t surprising considering the time they’d fallen asleep. And, though Lexa doesn’t want to leave the comfy coziness of Clarke, her bladder is screaming. Gently, Lexa maneuvers Clarke’s limbs, wincing as she snakes herself inch-by-inch until she can slide out in awkward slow motion.

When she returns, Clarke has splayed herself across the bed like a starfish, facedown with sheets too twisted to cover anything. Clarke’s bare skin glows in the daylight and strands of hair shimmer gold. The sight makes Lexa’s heart ache and she crawls her way on top, slowly lowering herself flush across Clarke’s back, threading a leg between, folding one arm across Clarke’s lower back and tucking the other under Clarke’s head-pillow.

Reverting to sleep, Lexa closes her eyes, certain she didn’t rouse Clarke until she feels a _very_ purposeful grind from Clarke’s ass, scooting back into her pelvis. Lexa’s eyes dart open, a smile threatens her lips when she raises her knee, high, between Clarke’s legs and Clarke reciprocates with another backward push. They continue this game, Lexa pressing her thigh forward as Clarke rides back. Moans have yet to break free, but breaths have considerably increased, both starting to pant and huff until Lexa slips her hand between their bodies and reaches for Clarke from behind. An appreciable slick of arousal has gathered between Clarke’s legs and Lexa glides her fingertips through the folds with ease.

“Mmm…”

Lexa draws the first moan, teasing up and down until she settles on Clarke’s clit with slow-moving circles. Clarke widens her knees, arching backward for more but Lexa maintains the same, languid pace, building Clarke stroke-per-stroke.

“Lex—” Desperation falls from Clarke’s lips, urging her hips back and seeking more friction.

Lexa yields by pressing her own body down, burying her face in a rumple of blond hair and effectively pinning Clarke flat against the mattress. She can feel Clarke’s every tremble, every hitch of breath and ultimate struggle for release when finally, Lexa sinks her fingers deep inside. It’s _tight_ and _wet;_ Clarke is practically there. And within a few thrusts, Clarke is crumbling beneath her, screaming into a pillow when, mid-come, she cranes her and crashes a kiss on Lexa’s mouth. Lexa kisses back, full and hard while anchoring her fingers and extending Clarke long as she can. The kiss slows in time with Clarke’s waning orgasm and leaves Lexa lost in bright blues.

“Hi.” Clarke squeaks then rolls underneath her so they’re properly face-to-face.

“Hi.” Lexa manages to parrot back.

“Are you really here?” Clarke says, cupping Lexa’s face in still apparent disbelief.

Smiling, Lexa nods and leans her face into Clarke’s palms.

“‘Cause I can’t count how many times I’ve thought of you… like that… in the morning… touching myself,” Clarke quietly admits.

The image immediately sets Lexa on fire; Clarke masturbating while thinking about her.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Mm-mhm,” Clarke purses her lips and averts her eyes. “Sorry I came so fast—couldn’t help it.”

“Well…” Lexa leans down and nuzzles into Clarke’s neck, dropping kisses. “Good thing I’m not done,” she mumbles against Clarke’s skin.

Lexa starts again, remapping Clarke’s body with her mouth. She takes a nipple in, flicks her tongue against the pebbled peak, savoring the rise in response she receives. She loves the way Clarke moves with her, as fluid as the tide ebbs and flows. They are a perfect match.  

Hours later, Lexa is lapping up what’s left of Clarke’s orgasm and determined to give Clarke another, sliding through Clarke with her tongue and twirling at the clit, again and again. Sweat dews their skin, dampening their hair and rendering the room muggy. Clarke’s hands scrabble across everything in its path, creasing the sheets, tangling them Lexa’s hair, and clawing her back and shoulders. Clarke’s legs pulse with digging heels and curling toes until Lexa runs her hands up the back of Clarke’s thighs, pushing her legs apart and holds her wide and open. It affords better access for Lexa’s tongue and she thrusts it in as far as possible.

“Oh god, Lexa!” Clarke’s hands tighten in her hair. “Fuck—yes!”

Lexa downs every last drop of Clarke that comes pouring out and continues to press on when Clarke makes a very distinct tug of her hair.

“Lex, can’t—”

Gently, Lexa relents, crawling up as Clarke’s legs drop to either side and slumps onto Clarke’s stomach. They are both in dire need of oxygen, lungs heaving for air. And a comfortable stretch of silence passes until their breathing calms and Clarke’s hands have since returned to Lexa’s hair, aimlessly carding through with her fingers, threading soft strokes and combing knots. This, Lexa loves. The falling in love part although she’s known for a quite some time that there is _something_ here; how the thoughts and memories of Clarke lingered months after they parted; how Clarke penetrated her dreams and left an imprint on her soul. In retrospect, all her previous breakups combined barely hold a candle to the roaring bonfire that Clarke has set. Lexa faults herself for the lack of perception, her own stupidity paired perfectly with stubbornness. It is still _very_ soon, too soon to be admitting anything, but Lexa sure-as-hell won’t let the opportunity—won’t let Clarke—slip away again.

“I never want to let you go, again,” Clarke says.

Lexa props her head up on Clarke’s belly, cocking a brow as if Clarke read her mind.

“Sorry… is that… too forward?” Clarke sucks in her bottom lip.

Though their time knowing each other has been brief, Lexa can’t recall or fathom the look of uncertainty in Clarke’s eyes, cautiously outstretching a wiry branch. Lexa resolves to put that uncertainty to rest and scoots to meet Clarke in the eyes.

“No Clarke, it’s not,” Lexa says softly, intertwining their fingers and kissing the back of Clarke’s hand. “Because I feel the same way.”

Clarke smiles and her eyes glisten with mirth. The news kickstarts Clarke into life; she wraps her body around Lexa’s and rolls them around, pinning Lexa’s arms above her head and kisses her.  In the process, Clarke’s hands begin to roam, down Lexa’s chests and across her stomach before returning north to cup Lexa’s breasts, pinching, playing and rolling.

“Fuck—” Lexa enunciates, kicking the ‘k’ much like she does when pronouncing Clarke’s name.

“Mmm…” Clarke hums with satisfaction, lips trailing south and enclosing her mouth over a nipple. She sucks and nibbles, grazing her teeth over Lexa’s tits until Lexa squirms with need. Lexa doesn’t normally beg—actually, Lexa has never begged—but it seems as though Clarke has the inherent ability to reduce Lexa into a puddle; Lexa is melting before the sun like ice cream on a hot summer’s day.

“Clarke, please,” Lexa says, insistently pushing down on Clarke’s shoulders.

Clarke releases Lexa’s nipple with a hard _pop_ and it evokes a deep hiss from Lexa. Thankfully, Clarke doesn’t pause to tease or torment and puts her mouth to immediate use, descending between Lexa’s legs and places an initiating kiss. It escalates from there, from purposeful drags of her tongue to targeted flickers, Clarke is _good._ She rakes her nails along the backside of Lexa's thighs and it causes Lexa to shiver with arousal. It pools and Clarke gathers it on her fingertips before slipping in, slow and gradual, and a moan escapes Lexa. Full and filled.

“Fuck, Clarke that feels so good…” Too good; Lexa tosses her head back, fighting her orgasm that’s climbing faster than expected. Though she can feel the fatigue from the night before, it does little to thwart the fall as her body teeters on the precipice. Clarke must know because she speeds up her efforts, deep and slow thrusts turn quick and shallow, and it sends Lexa tripping off the edge. Then, Clarke stills to hold her there, airborne, and Lexa’s hands scramble for purchase. Clarke’s hand finds hers, squeezing it tight until Lexa comes down.

But, Clarke isn’t done, doesn’t crawl up for air and initiates another round with a twitch of her fingers. This will undoubtedly be the pace; a ravenous feast, both desperate for their bodies to catch up to their minds, and hearts.

When sweat and sex soak the sheets, they opt for the shower. Although time spent in the shower is much of the same, kissing and fucking until they’re dizzy between the heat and orgasms. Their bodies are marked with hickies, bites, and scratches as if the were caught in some supernatural fight between vampires and werewolves. They can’t stop. Until they do because both are starving, their caving stomachs can no longer be ignored.

Exiting the bedroom, Lexa is about to settle for her scattered clothes from the day before when Clarke proffers her a very familiar set of sweats.

“Um… here,” Clarke says, handing them to Lexa.

“Oh, my sweats. Thanks.” Lexa puts them on, noticing how much they _smell_ like Clarke and hums a smile.

“What?” Clarke darts an eye.

“Nothing… they just um,” Lexa pulls the collar up to her nose. “They smell like you.”

“Really?” Clarke leans in for a hug, nuzzling her face into the same part of the collar. “Because I thought they still kinda smell like you… I may or may not have worn them a few times…” Clarke sways in their embrace while she speaks, burying her face deeper in the crook of Lexa’s neck, inhaling deep breaths.

“Just a few times?” Lexa pokes.

“On weekends… almost every weekend…”

Lexa dips her head, searching for eye contact to coax more out of Clarke.

“Okay, fine. They’re my _favorite_ sweats and I wear them _all_ the time.”

Laughing, Lexa kisses Clarke. “Then I’ll make sure to get them back to you.”

/

Evidently, Clarke’s kitchen only serves as décor because the cabinets are bare save for a few cans of soup, microwave popcorn, and packets of take-out sauce.  

“Clarke, what the hell do you eat?”

“Sorry—I don’t cook, like, ever. Remember?”

Lexa makes a mental note to cook for Clarke, excited for the opportunity.

“I normally just do take-out,” Clarke continues. “And especially with UberEats these days. My options used to be limited to places that only deliver, but now,” Clarke grabs her phone and flashes the screen for the delivery app at Lexa, “I can pretty much order anything.” Clarke sits on the kitchen counter and begins thumbing away for food options.

Unsuspectingly, a low _meow_ sounds and a cat rounds the corner at Lexa’s feet.

“Ooo, Clarke, you didn’t tell me you had a cat.” Lexa immediately leans down to pick up the orange tabby.

“No! Be care—”

“What?”

In the seconds that pass, Lexa has since rolled the cat on its back and proceeded to pet down its belly and Clarke’s jaw drops, eyes widening in disbelief.

“He’s… not… friendly.”

“What do you mean he’s not friendly?” Lexa shrugs while looking down at the cat, now purring in her arms.

“I hate that cat, and he has _never_ let me pick him up.”

Lexa covers his ears. “Shhh, that’s why. You can’t—” Lexa lifts the tag on his collar to read the cat’s name, “—can’t talk around Theo like that, aloud.”

“Oh my god, are you one of those cat people.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lexa feigns offense.

“You know— people who like cats. Unlike me.”

“I am proud to announce that I do not discriminate between domesticated animals.” Lexa is now bouncing with the cat as if she were coaxing an infant to sleep. “If you don’t like cats Clarke, why do you have one?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Long story, but a crazy ex of mine left him and he’s so unfriendly, I was afraid that if I brought him to the shelter, he wouldn’t get adopted and just put down. So, I kept him. _That_ cat,” Clarke points at it accusingly, “—has chased, scratched, and pounced on every single person that has stepped foot in this house, except for you, for some reason. He’s attacked my friends so many times that I’ve had to lock him in the spare bathroom when they come over for dinner.”

“Awn,” Lexa lifts him overhead by the armpits and looks at him adoringly. “He’s probably just lonely,” she says. “Do you have any treats?”

“What? No—I don’t put my hand anywhere near that cat’s mouth. He used to try and bite me _while_ I fed him his dinner. I’ve since gotten an automatic feeder.”

Lexa bashes a dubious glance in Clarke’s direction, unsure if Clarke is exaggerating and returns the cat to the floor. “Speaking of dinner?”

“Oh, yeah,” Clarke’s eyes fall back onto her phone. “Preference? Greek, Italian, Chinese…?”

Lexa shakes her head. “No, I’ll eat anything—but maybe, whatever’s fastest?”

“The Thai place is usually pretty quick.”

“Perfect.”

In the interim, Lexa opens several more cabinets for something to tide her over with no avail. “Clarke, you don’t even have peanut butter,” and flashes a look of doubt at Clarke. “I don’t know… maybe I spoke too soon… not having peanut butter is a felon in my book.”

“Why?” Clarke quirks a playful eyebrow. “Are you going to arrest me? Because I know a pretty good lawyer… doubt you’ll win your case,” Clarke says. “I can’t eat peanut butter.”

“What?” Lexa spins and her expression drops. “Are you allergic?”

“No. I love it, it just has like a thousand calories and you know—” Clarke grabs at top of her hips. “I got plenty.”

Lexa takes two steps into Clarke’s space and pulls Clarke’s hands from their focus. “You—” Kiss. “Are perfect.”

“Mm,” Clarke’s hand slide under the hem of Lexa’s sweater, enjoyably palming her abs. “That’s easy for _you_ to say.”

“Well… put it this way, if I don’t eat enough or work out, I shrivel up like a raisin. I was really small in middle school and um… kids use to make fun of me. Peanut butter helps me pack down the calories—can’t live without it,” Lexa says, chuckling slightly.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I just remembered… I once went on a date with this girl who was deathly allergic. I didn’t know and accidentally kissed her after eating peanut butter… ended up in the ER,” Lexa winces. “I felt _so_ bad. Never again, and I’ve since sworn off those who are allergic to nuts.”

“Mhm, well… good thing I’m not allergic.” Clarke wraps her legs around Lexa’s waist and tugs her in for a kiss. And another.  

Twenty minutes later, Clarke and Lexa are expectedly interrupted by the delivery person while engaged in a heavy make-out session on the kitchen counter. Another round of sex brewing, but first, food.

They sit cross-legged on the floor with food spread on the coffee table. Forgoing plates, they eat directly out of the take-out boxes supplying generous portions of pad Thai, chicken satay with extra peanut sauce (as per Lexa’s request), pineapple fried rice, two orders of spring rolls, and mango sticky rice. The surplus of carbs is a severe need and they are unabashedly gorging themselves; their relationship quickly blooming to afford this level of familiarity.

“Mm, Clarke, c’mere—” Lexa gestures Clarke to lean forward and wipes a stain from the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks,” Clarke murmurs while chewing a mouthful of everything.

Adequately full, they find themselves snuggling on the floor with the couch pillows and throw, succumbing to a late afternoon nap and waking near 8 P.M. Rested and recharged, both are ready for another round, undressing and commencing on the living room floor. Night becomes day and their pleasure stretches into early the next morning with Sunday’s agenda encompassing much of the same. A cyclical routine of food, sleep, and sex.

/

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Clarke screams. Her hands grip the headboard and thighs bestride Lexa’s head. Clarke doesn’t know if she’s come this many times in her life—certainly not over the course of a single weekend. Lexa is amazing; Clarke’s body is receptive to Lexa’s touch in each and every way. The pressure of her hands, the warmth of her embrace, and softness in her kisses. And right now, the glide of her tongue under Clarke’s clit.

Clarke’s thighs _ache_ , in fact, her entire body aches as if she ran a marathon. Diaphragm fatigued, throat hoarse, and lungs burn. But still, she comes with equal intensity, riding and grinding in Lexa’s face until her knees give and body sinks. She slides all the way down to Lexa’s mouth and cups Lexa’s face for another kiss. It’s long and slow, and Clarke savors the way she tastes from Lexa’s lips with a hint of Lexa off her own. Recalling what Lexa likes best, Clarke rakes her tongue over Lexa’s lower lip and is rewarded with a moan. Other treasuries in her recent exploration of Lexa’s body include nibbles behind the ear and teeth across the collarbone. Also, Lexa _really_ likes her breasts and handles them perfectly; Clarke is more than happy to shove them into Lexa’s face.

Their drawl of a kiss comes to a natural lull and Clarke rests her down on Lexa’s shoulder. She has yet to check the time but concludes it’s late in the evening from the radiance of twilight seeping through her curtains.

A stretch of comfortable silence passes accompanied by small gestures of affection. More brushes of hair, playing with hands, and fingertips across skin. A lazy stillness, although, their sexathon weekend is soon ending. Clarke is feeling particularly clingy—far beyond admittance—so she settles for the fifth.

“Clarke?”

“Mhm?” Clarke props herself up on Lexa’s chest, knowing what’s to come by the way Lexa says her name.

“I um… I should probably… get going.”

Lexa’s right; Clarke doesn’t know if she’d last another night if they can keep their hands off each other and make it to work the following morning. Nonetheless, the validity of Lexa’s statement doesn’t keep Clarke from pouting a fat lower lip in absolute protest, flashing the best set of puppy eyes she has.

Lexa’s expressions sink as if she’s been struck in the heart. “Please, Clarke,” Lexa averts her eyes, “don’t look at me like that. You’ve already whittled my resolve to dust.”

Nodding, Clarke spares Lexa any further demur and rolls off. When they emerge from her bedroom of a sex-cave, the living room has fared no better. Pizza boxes top the Thai take-out cartons, couch cushions are amiss, and clothes and blankets litter the floor. They fucked _everywhere_ , the couch… the floor… the kitchen counter, horizontal surfaces unlimited. Lexa stays to help tidy up the common space before heading out the door.  

“Lunch, tomorrow?” Clarke asks, reluctantly opening the door.

“I can’t, I have a lunch meeting. But, dinner?”

Clarke frowns. “Okay… I’ll see you for dinner then.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye.”

Together, they lean in for a parting kiss, a quick peck.

“Bye.”

Kiss.

“Bye.”

Kiss.

They continue to interchange kisses with goodbyes only for pecks to progress into full lipped presses when Clarke falters with the slip of the tongue. She releases the door to curl her hands around Lexa, one at the waist, the other at the nape, and tugs Lexa back inside. As the door closes on itself, the window of opportunity for Lexa’s departure is immediately lost. Heat infuses the moment and Lexa backs her against the wall, pressing their bodies together for the smoldering coals catch fire.

Clarke slides the waistband of her sweatpants down just as Lexa drops to her knees, throwing a leg over Lexa’s shoulder for good measure. A familiar warmth envelopes her clit, and Clarke tips her head back with an audible thud against the walls, positive that she will _never_ be sick of this. Of Lexa.

Her body trembles and thighs burn, and Clarke is really unsure how she’s managing to stand right now, especially on one leg. One hand palms the wall, the other atop of Lexa’s head, and Clarke doing her best to prevent from toppling over when Lexa sudden stops and hoists Clarke up onto the entry table.

“Lex!” It catches Clarke by pleasant surprise, hugging Lexa around the shoulders.

“Fuck… can’t get enough of you…” Lexa murmurs and places a soft, wet kiss on her lips. Lexa holds her snug while gently tilting her backward to brace against the wall. Long fingers find themselves between her legs, again; Clarke is _wet_ and Lexa slides all the way in with a single thrust.

Lexa starts a gradual pump and Clarke manages to ride in tempo, Lexa’s fingers working their magic and it feels like a spell she can’t break. Overcome, Clarke cripples before her. She is so _weak_ for Lexa, it’s beyond laughable. She has never felt so powerless.

“God, Lexa—what are you _doing_ to me,” Clarke moans. She is submerged in pleasure; her orgasm builds and builds and builds. And Lexa never stops, patiently working her with smooth precision until Clarke teeters at the crest. Then, Lexa strikes with the twist of her wrist, thumbing Clarke’s clit that is her ultimate undoing.

“Fuck—Lex—coming!” Clarke holds on for dear life, flung like a rocket in space and buries her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck, screaming. She spirals in a fit of pleasure until Lexa grounds her, slowly bringing her back from the abyss. They take a moment, wrapped up snug in each other’s arms and all Clarke wants to do is drag Lexa back into the bedroom. Kiss and snuggle, talk and fuck, eat and sleep.

“Erm—Clarke?” Lexa wiggles up to reconnect eyes. “I should really… really go.”

“Yeah… I know.”

Lexa leans off and Clarke scoots her sticky ass off the table, somewhat embarrassed as she puts her sweatpants back on.

“So, dinner tomorrow?” Clarke says, reopening the door and swooping a damp strand of hair from her eyes.

Lexa nods. “Tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> My inbox is always open! @TheSSClexa on tumblr. 
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way representative of locations and/or organizations depicted.


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